


The Calm Before the Storm

by venus_ink



Series: Impossibilities [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Approximation, Character Bashing, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Dark Harry, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Female Homosexuality, Girl-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), Homophobia, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Multi, Paganism, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Slytherin Harry Potter, Twins, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21788248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venus_ink/pseuds/venus_ink
Summary: When one becomes embittered enough towards one side of a war, it often happens that they turn to the other side. When someone's fate has been decided for them, they often become that exactly what is expected of them. Anastasia Potter's role has never been as the hero, and who is she to prove them wrong. While Alex Potter enjoys the luxuries of being Britain's hero, Anastasia gets to be the hidden twin, like Rapunzel up in her tower. One surprise meeting later, and she's gone from dirty little secret to mysterious musical sensation. How will this change her story?This is the first installment of what will eventually cover the entire original series, though it will be split into multiple works.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy - eventual, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, too many to list - Relationship
Series: Impossibilities [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570183
Comments: 123
Kudos: 596
Collections: Long Fics to Binge, Storycatchers' pile of magical stories from the world of Harry Potter





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic and will be updated sporadically but often, as I write constantly but rarely in any functional order. While many aspects of this fic are different than canon, I do my best when writing to keep everything realistic and form the best approximation I can of how the canon story and characters would work from my chosen point of divergence. Obviously I don't own HP, but this is my original writing. Please enjoy!

When Lily Potter saw her children for the very first time, her first thought was that it may have actually been worth the almost thirty hour labor. Her second thought was to remind herself what a ridiculous thought the first one was. Even through her pain, however, Lily couldn’t help but smile. “He’s perfect,” she breathed, looking at the child she held, brushing her fingers across his wisps of red hair- red just like hers. 

James moved from his chair to the edge of the bed beside her to see his son. “He really is,” the new father agreed, kissing his son, then his wife. 

Sirius couldn’t help but agree. “They’re beautiful, Lils,” he said honestly, staying a step away so as not to intrude on the family scene.

Remus, on the other hand, had practically backed out of the room after the midwife. His back was pressed to the doorframe and his hand rested on the knob, ready to bolt at any moment.

“Moony?” James called. “You’re being pretty quiet. Come say hi to the new additions!”

Remus smiled tightly. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

James’s eyes could have reached back into his brain if such a thing were possible. “You’re family, too, Remus. Get your arse over here.”

Still, he hesitated. “I don’t know if it’s best that I’m around children,” he said carefully.

 _Ah._ Lily understood. “If this is about your furry little problem, you can get over it, Remus Lupin,” she fake scolded her friend. “You are not a danger to my children, and you will not treat yourself as such.”

His smile was real that time, at least. But it wasn’t enough to convince him. “Lily, I really don’t think-”

But James interrupted him this time, catching on to the real issue. “I trust you around my children one-hundred percent, Moony,” he announced. “In fact,” he added, jumping up from the bed, “I’m going to prove that to you by making you the godfather to my firstborn son."

The werewolf’s eyes were the size of saucers. “I- I won’t let you down,” he promised. “You or, erm…”

“Alexander,” Lily supplied suddenly. “Alexander James Potter.”

James, his face about to split in half from his smile, leaned over and kissed his wife smack on the lips. “I love it,” he said hoarsely. “I love it and him and you.” She grinned. “But generally everyone here has two middle names,” he added. “One stays a bit more private, you see. The second one. Only trusted family and friends would ever know it.”

Lily tilted her head. “Another name…. What do you think, Remus? It’s your godson after all."

Remus finally approached the happy family and got his first look at his godson. He could have cast the strongest patronus of his life in that moment. “Felix,” he said, not a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “Means luck and success. Exactly what we’d want for our little boy.” _And exactly how I feel. So bloody lucky._

“If Moony gets Alex, I want the other one,” Sirius declared, his eyes glittering. “What do ya say, Prongs? Can I be this one’s godfather?”

“Of course,” Lily replied for him. “I’d love nothing more, Siri.”

Sirius shot her a grateful smile. “Can I hold her, James?” he asked his best friend, holding out his arms.

“Yeah, yeah, of course, Pads,” James agreed, still enthralled by his wife and son, handing over the carefully swaddled baby girl.

“Now what to call you?” Sirius cooed, holding her up before him.

Lily looked over. “I have no clue,” she laughed honestly. “No name is really _coming_ to me, like it did with Alex. What do you think, Padfoot?”

His jaw dropped, his eyes lighting up. “I can name her?” he asked, awestruck, bouncing slightly on his feet at the idea.

“ _If_ I approve,” Lily warned, pointing an accusing finger at her friend. “You will not name my daughter something ridiculous.”

“I would never!” he exclaimed, and the women slapped his arm playfully in reply.

Sirius stared deep into the emerald eyes of the baby girl as he held her. She just stared right back up at him with her big eyes, a harsh contrast to Alex, who had just barely stopped crying as he had fallen asleep in his mother’s arms.

“How about… Anastasia?” he murmured. “Would that fit you, little one?”

She just cooed up at him, and he felt as though his heart was about to melt at the adorable sight.

“Anastasia,” he repeated a little louder, letting his inflection make it a question for Lily.

“It's pretty, Pads,” James told him, turning around. He frowned. “A bit… pretentious, though, don’t you think?”

“Not pretentious,” Sirius argued indignantly. “Proper. Elegant.”

Lily smiled fondly at the men. “Well, I can’t argue with that. Anastasia,” she repeated, testing out the name. “I think it’s perfect. And they both have ‘A’ names. It’s positively adorable.”

“And middle names, too,” Sirius mused, as James and Lily turned their attention back to Alex. He wasn’t usually a sucker for the Olde Ways, but traditions had meaning. And family, even if he hated his immediate relatives, was important. “Valeria?” he tested. “Anastasia Valeria Potter? No, not quite right. Pandora, maybe?” he tried, thinking through the traditional Black names. “Anastasia Pandora Potter.” He loved the sound of it. “Lils?” he called over.

She liked the name, and saw his clear desire for her to be named such, but she hesitated. “The women in my family are all named after flowers,” she explained. “Have been for generations. My sister is Petunia, my mother is Rose, my grandmother is Heather, her sister is Daisy. I’d love for that to carry over,” she said hopefully.

And who was he to deny her.

“Flowers, flowers, why don’t I know more flowers,” he muttered. It took him several more minutes of muttering to find one he liked. “Artemisia,” he decided. “Anastasia Artemisia Pandora Potter.”

“That’s quite the mouthful,” James argued, his nose crinkling slightly. 

Sirius shrugged. “Names are important,” he said simply in reply. “You know that.”

“Fine,” the father replied, rolling his eyes, but his smile gave him away.

So they had their children. Alexander James Felix Potter and Anastasia Artemisia Pandora Potter. (Though obviously the second middle names wouldn’t be public knowledge.) The new parents couldn’t be happier.

_______

He might not have admitted it to the Potters, but Sirius had something of an ulterior motive.

It was about a fortnight before he could carry out his plan, but he finally had an opening. Lily and James were bringing Alex to the Longbottoms’ to play with Neville, and Sirius had offered to babysit Anastasia. 

Holding the baby in one arm, he carefully chalked out the circles and lines that he had practiced so many times. Elder Futhark runes were the only ones taught at Hogwarts, and thus were the only ones he had any real experience with. This ritual, however, required Marcomannic runes, and he felt a bit out of his depth. 

The alphabets were almost the same, so he wasn’t too worried about the actual circle, but, regardless, he had drawn the ritual circle hundreds of times, making sure every last line was perfect before he would dare let his little Anastasia anywhere near it. 

“Othala, Jera, Othala,” he muttered under his breath, reciting the runes in the order he was to draw them. The rather bothersome thing about Marcomannic runes was that they had to be drawn in a very specific order, and it varied from ritual to ritual. There were some general rules- for example, like in this ritual, when there were individual circles for each person, the single runes within would be drawn first, left to right if applicable, and in order of the alphabet if not. But other than a few basics, one simply had to be extremely careful.

He drew on the last rune, Ingwaz, in the center of the circle. Ingwaz, though it symbolized beginnings, was always drawn last. Every time.

“Now, sweetheart,” he whispered to Anastasia, “I need you to be really good for a little bit, okay? I need you to lie right here”- he placed her in her circle, over the Gebo rune- “and be very still and quiet, alright?”

She, being an infant, had no idea what he was saying, but she did what he asked regardless, as it was her nature already to be almost eerily still.

Sirius then took his own place kneeling over the Cen rune, holding her hand in the intersection of their circles over Ingwaz. 

Closing his eyes, he recited the ritual he knew so well. 

“ _Mater Supera_ ,” he began, “ _benedictiones precamor de adoptione_ …”

 _Soon_ , he thought to himself as he spoke. Soon, she would be his daughter, his blood, his heiress.

The ritual ended with a glowing strand of magic snaking around their joined hands, and he could sense that their burning blood merged. 

He had never cared much for runes, and most of the rituals in the books at home were Dark. Well, technically, the adoption ritual was as well, but that wasn’t the point. However, no matter how long he went, he would never stop craving the feeling at the end of a properly performed ritual, when his magic seemed to have found a home within him, rather than fighting for freedom as it usually did. The feeling of perfect release and connection to magic- nothing could compare.

Sirius sighed and cleared the ritual chalk with a wave of his wand. The Blacks would be proud of him, proud for getting the family back to what it used to be, back where it belonged. Morgana, even his mother would be proud of him for it, and what a disconcerting realization that was. The Potters, however, could never know.

_______

Lily and James considered themselves very lucky as their son got older. 

Alex had grown into hair as untameable as his, but in the exact same shade of red as hers. Bright hazel eyes, tan skin, and freckles gave him a happy-go-lucky air. At only two, he was already strong-willed and stubborn, spending his spare time pranking with his father and riding around on his toy broom. All their friends agreed and spoiled the little boy.

Anastasia, on the other hand, was… odd. That was the only word they could think of to describe her. She was almost the exact opposite of her brother, but, in their minds at least, she had gotten all the negative qualities. Her skin was pale as milk and she was so thin that you could see right through it. She had black hair like James, but had gotten curls from Merlin-knows-where. She was tiny, which only made her huge eyes stand out more, giving her a waif-like appearance. 

But the worst differences were in her personality. Anastasia was bothersomely reserved. They had only heard her say a few words, _ever._ She seemed to be everywhere, just watching, observing, learning everything about everything. They weren't particularly worried about what she could learn; they didn't discuss anything important without wards, and they had yet to give their children the talk about magic and how it worked. So, it wasn’t bad per se, but it was rather off-putting.

She would spend hours looking at books, or at least flipping through the pictures. She would go for walks, which was surprising enough on its own, but she would disappear for hours and hours at a time. They simply had no idea what to do with her.

Then came the night when everything would change. 

They knew about the prophecy, of course. It could apply to Alex or to Neville Longbottom. Or to Ana, but Dumbledore had expressed his doubts about that option. So, under Dumbledore's orders, they went into lockdown and made Peter their secret keeper. But even that couldn’t truly prepare them.

“James!” Lily hissed, her heart pounding in her chest as the emergency wards kicked in. “James, it's him!”

James bolted upright and tried to calm his breathing. “Alright. It's alright. We prepared for this. Take the twins upstairs and hide. I'll try to hold him off until you get a message to Dumbledore.”

Lily nodded, her eyes wide, and rushed up the creaking stairs two at a time, desperate to hide her babies. She had barely reached the top of the landing when she heard the door slam open and a voice that could only be assumed to be You-Know-Who.

“Stand aside,” the cold voice intoned.

“Never!” James announced with all his Gryffindor courage. “You're never going to hurt my family!”

“ _Stupefy_ ,” he said absently.

James threw up a shaky shield just in time, stumbling back and almost falling onto the couch.

“You’re not going to take me that easily,” he grunted.

“ _Prohibite_.”

And James fell to the ground motionless. 

He headed up the stairs silently, twirling his wand between his fingers. When he reached the nursery, Lily was already there, blocking the crib with her own body. 

“Stand aside,” he said again. After all, he did not kill without reason. That was simply a waste of magic.

“Please,” she begged. “Not my babies. Don't hurt Alex, please.”

 _How odd, to only mention one child._ “Stand aside, you stupid girl,” he tried again.

“Take me instead!” she tried.

He sneered. “Do you not realize how pointless that would be? _Stupefy_ ,” he said, waving his wand at the woman. 

He then turned his attention to the babies in the crib. At first he only saw the boy, crying loudly and jumping up and down on the mattress. He grimaced. There was no way _that_ was the child who could defeat him.

He looked around for the other child before realizing that she was in the crib as well. She was sitting in the back corner, making no noise at all. She held what looked like a muggle pen, and was doodling small patterns, black ink against her pale skin. She looked up at him with an odd expression on her face.

“Hello, sir,” she said politely.

He raised an eyebrow. So not all Potter's were insufferable.

“Hello,” he replied, unsure why he did so.

“Is everything alright?” she asked then. “Lily's on the floor. Are you going to be on the floor?”

 _Lily?_ he thought. She was two- shouldn’t it be mummy or mama?

He raised his arm to point his wand at her, his red eyes narrowing. Yes, he thought, this could very well be the child of the prophecy. She seemed intelligent, sure, but moreover he could feel her magic from where he stood. _Still a child,_ his mind reminded him.

“I wish I did not have to do this,” he murmured. 

“ _Avada kedavra.”_

And she… didn't die? The curse hit her directly, engulfing her in a light the same shade of green as her eyes. She was pushed backward against the back of the crib by a wind only she could feel. Her eyes went wide, and she let out a little gasp.

But the the curse seemed to rebound. It almost _bounced_ off of her and came right back at him. 

However, one doesn’t become a dark lord without basic duelling skills. He knew how to dodge a curse. He threw himself to the side and to the ground, letting the curse hit the wall behind him. 

_But what to do now?_ he thought. The child had just survived the killing curse. That simply wasn’t done. If he hadn’t gotten out of the way so quickly, it would have rebounded to kill him instead. 

_Perhaps…_ he wondered. _Perhaps if he could make them think it had killed him…._

“Sir?” cut in a small voice. “What was that?”

“I don’t know, child,” he breathed, still in shock.

“Are you alright?” she asked then. “And I’m not a child! I’m two!”

His rumbling laugh surprised them both. Then he grew somber. _Are you alright?_ A simple, childish question. He had just tried to kill her for Merlin’s sake! But he couldn’t remember the last time anyone asked him that. Honestly, anyway. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

“Then what is your name, little one? You cannot be angry if you have not given me anything else to call you.”

“I’m Ana,” she told him. “Anastasia.”

Like the last Russian Grand Duchess. So young, so much potential, but still _dead._ How fitting.

“What a lovely name,” he told her. She smiled at him. He smiled back. _What was he doing? Dark Lords don’t smile at babies!_ “I am… Marvolo.”

“Will I see you again?” she asked.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, I do believe you will.”

With that, he left the room and then the house, leaving a small pile of ash on the floor where he would have been had the rebounding curse hit its mark. _Let’s see what the great Dumbledore makes of that._

____________

“Yes,” Albus announced, after they’d all settled themselves in James’s study with tea. “I do believe Tom has been defeated. And all due to your child.”

“Which one?” Lily asked tentatively.

“Well-” Albus began.

James cut in. “Well, it’s gotta be our little Alex, right? It takes a Gryffindor to beat a slimy Slytherin, and Alex is a perfect Gryffindor if I’ve ever seen one.”

Lily nodded grudgingly. “He does seem a better fit for the prophecy child,” she admitted. “He’s very sweet and stubborn, just like his father.”

“I would agree with you on that analysis,” Albus told them. “It is also likely that Tom would choose the half-blood boy like himself. He always did have a flair for symbolism,” he said almost fondly.

“So what happened exactly, Albus?” James asked. “How did he die?”

Albus adjusted his half-moon glasses. “All evidence shows that the killing curse was indeed performed.”

Lily gasped. Alex could have truly died that night! 

“However, it appears that, while he did send the curse at Alex, it rebounded. This could have been because he is the prophecy child, and therefore very powerful, or because or your willingness to sacrifice yourselves for him. But either way, Alex is the only person to survive the killing curse, and is now Voldemort’s defeater.”

James puffed up. “That’s my boy!” he crowed. “Surviving the killing curse itself! And killing You-Know-Who in the process! He’s a hero to this world.”

“He is indeed,” Albus said seriously. “And you will have to understand what that will mean for him. He will be famous in our world.”

“Just as he deserves!”

“But what about the Death Eaters?” Lily asked, worried. “Will they target him?”

“I doubt they will appreciate losing their leader. But he will be fine in Potter Manor, and his safety will be of the utmost priority. And without Tom, I believe it will be far easier to catch those who remain loyal to his cause.”

“Alright,” Lily said, appeased.

Albus took a deep breath, steadying himself on the large oak desk. “I do not believe Tom is truly gone.”

_“What?”_

He nodded gravely. “He has taken measures to ensure his immortality,” he explained. “He is gone for now; Alex has certainly saved our world. We would not have survived much more war without time to prepare. However, Alex will need to be trained as the prophecy child.”

“Well…” James glanced at Lily. “That should be fine. It’s nothing our son can’t handle, I’m sure.”

“Now as for for Anastasia. What will you do with her?” Albus asked, folding his hands in front of himself.

“What do you mean?”

“It may be better to… send her away,” Albus said carefully.

“To _what?”_ Lily shrieked.

“Not forever,” he assured her. “Nothing like that. But you know Alex will need training, and he will get a lot of press. It may prove difficult to raise them in a way that would not leave her a bit… bitter.”

“We are not sending our child away just because the other is more famous,” Lily insisted.

“And she’d be far more bitter than we could ever make her if she grew up away from us and found out it was because we loved her famous brother more,” James added. “She’s smart; her rebellious phase wouldn’t be good for anyone.”

“Alright,” Albus gave in, resigned. “Be prepared for a lot of press for Alex, however. The wizarding world needs a hero right now. He will have to be prepared to take that place.”

“He will be,” they promised. “We’ll make sure of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you thought!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter leads to more than Anastasia could ever have imagined.

Ana watched from the balcony as everyone she knew or knew of, and lots and lots of strangers, celebrated Alex’s birthday. She swung one leg over the banister, a move she practiced so often she had no fear of falling. She scanned the ballroom for Alex and found him being introduced to… was that the French Minister of Magic? Yes, it was.

His flaming red hair bounced with him, a show even from the back of how excited he was. And how confident he was in showing it. She huffed. Her brother really was an idiot. How could he act in such a way when representing the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter? She would never be so… _crass_ or so _obvious_ when introduced to someone so important.

She would have stayed composed and comported and acted in a way that would reflect well upon her House and make them proud. But what she would do didn’t really matter, did it? She wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived. She wasn’t a hero.

No, she was just… her. She was left in the background, pushed into the shadows of her brother. She knew that a large portion of the public didn’t even know she existed. She was quiet, she knew, and very smart, preferring books to people. It was understand really. Her brother was the one with friends; who would want to hang out with her? 

But still, at least she had class. She had impeccable manners, knew every aspect of proper wizarding culture by heart, carried herself with dignity- everything Alex hated. 

Alex preferred to show every emotion exactly how he felt it, something that was incredibly stupid and quite impolite in proper company. He had skipped every etiquette lesson they had ever had, choosing to sneak out to fly. An act that James all but encouraged. He had no sense of traditional culture, no doubt caused by their lack of traditional behavior at home. Ana, however, had taken the initiative to teach herself over the years from the books left in the Potter library.

She would have known how to greet the French Minister. Alex clearly didn’t. He pushed her poor heart further as he stuck out his hand for a shake, and she physically cringed. As only the secondary heir to a Most Ancient and Noble House, but in his own home, he should have performed a second level bow with his arms bent and held out in front of him, right over left. He really was an embarrassment.

The minister had come to their home all the way from France for the party, along with the heads and children of every important family in Britain and every important government figure in Europe. After all, it was the Boy-Who-Lived’s birthday. It was a day to rejoice, or at least that’s what everyone always said. After all, Alex was the savior. The defeater of Voldemort! (Though of course they all just said You-Know-Who.) The hero of the Wizarding world!

And she understood that. He did something great as a baby, saved a lot of lives, and they wanted to make him feel special. But why was he the only one allowed to be special? Lily and James- it had been years since she had been able to stomach calling them Mum and Dad- always claimed that she was jealous. She wasn’t quite sure if that’s true.

You see, as long as she could remember, it had always been Alex, Alex, Alex. Even when they were little. And sure, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, but he was also a child. A little boy who cried to his parents when he scraped his knee and begged for candy before bed. Seemed pretty average to her. But not to their parents. Alex had always been loud and stubborn, model Gryffindor traits as James called them. If that’s what it meant to be a Gryffindor, she’d say it was a good bit overrated.

Lily and James were both Gryffindors; this she knew. It only made sense that they would want a Gryffindor child. But they were too young to have house affiliations. So why did it matter already? 

She didn’t think she was jealous for a pretty simple reason. She didn’t want to be like Alex. She didn’t want to be loud and brash and stubborn. She didn’t want to have his messy red hair and hazel eyes and freckles. She didn’t want to be showered with gifts from people who didn’t care or be mobbed by adoring fans she didn’t know. She didn’t want every moment of her life reported in the papers or to have to wonder which of her friends actually cared. It sounded tedious and, once again, overrated.

He seemed to love it, however. He soaked up every word and picture and request for an autograph. He wandered around his own parties with the smug knowledge that everyone was there because of him, and the even more smug idea that everyone was even alive because of him.

On top of the attention from the entire wizarding world, Alex also had the attention of Lily and James Potter. Every day started with ‘good morning, Alex!’ and a kiss on the forehead, followed by Alex’s favorite breakfast then Alex’s choice of activities then Alex’s favorite dinner. She didn’t need all of that, but a little would certainly be nice.

This all meant, of course, that it was also her birthday. Not that anyone remembered that. The Potters hadn’t celebrated Lughnasadh’s eve as her birthday for as long as she could remember. She wasn’t even certain if she had been invited to the party that night. She was still dressed up, however. If she ran into anyone, she wouldn’t want to look improper. 

And it was rather fun to pretend there was a party in _her_ honor.

Her robes were a soft ivory, symbolizing the purity of the land for the crops in the upcoming harvest. It clung to the edges of her shoulders and reached all the way down to brush the forest green velvet flats that covered her feet. Emerald green thread traced swirls and patterns over the fabric in the same color as the large jewel that hung from her choker style necklace. A forest green sheer shawl completed her look. She looked like the heiress she was, and quite stunning if she did say so herself.

Almost as if she were indeed attending her own party.

But her lack of certainty in her invitation and her complete certainty in her unwantedness had kept her banished to the balcony she was in now. It sat far above the ballroom with a small part sticking out that was not meant for watching so much as snooping- something she was definitely _not_ doing- if the notice-me-not and invisibility wards covering it were anything to go by.

But the balcony was hers. It was her safe place, her one hideout in her own home; even her bedroom wasn’t as private. She wasn’t sure if Lily and James were aware of its existence, and that was exactly how she liked it. 

She had outfitted the balcony and the room behind it to her own liking. The decor was done in caramel, lilac, forest green, and silver, a harsh contrast to the obnoxiously red and gold manor the Potters had designed.

She had never really felt at home around the red and gold. The glowing ruby and the shining gold always felt somehow blinding, and made her completely stir-crazy. Actually, the only bout of accidental magic her parents had ever acknowledged her doing had to do with the atrocious color scheme. When she was four, they decided that Alex needed their room all to himself. At the time, she didn’t understand why. They shared a remodelled version of the nursery, a room larger than the master bedroom, though obviously not bigger than the entire master suite. But that didn’t matter; Alex needed the room. 

So they kicked her out into a smaller room a few halls away from the family hall where theirs and Alex’s rooms were. Her new room was one of the smaller ones in the house, used by James’ mother’s younger sister when she lived there. The paint was peeling and the walls were practically falling apart, but the room itself was actually rather nice. Lily had decided that they could have a family bonding session by painting the room the muggle way (during which Anastasia was still ignored), but once she learned the paint was red, she had begged them, politely of course, to get a different color, light green perhaps. 

James had vetoed this idea immediately, but she sat and stared at the paint, and every time it touched the walls, it turned a lovely shade of mint green, exactly the color she had wanted.

James had gotten very mad and tried many times to either use new paint or charm the walls a different color, but it was to no avail. Finally, Lily asked her if she knew why the paint was turning green. Her simple answer was, ‘I wanted it to be like that.’ It didn’t go over well, to say the least, but as there was nothing they could do to change it, they mostly just let her be.

So, to her rather extensive knowledge, other than her bedroom, the balcony was the only room in Potter Manor not done in Gryffindor colours. She got a never ending satisfaction from that.

She had added a reading nook in the window and bookshelves filled with books, organized to her satisfaction, lined the walls. The books held knowledge about every branch of magic, including a few borderline dark arts, along with stories and histories and a few books just filled with copies of ancient paintings that she could stare at and study for hours. The room also held a variety of instruments- a flute, a harp, a cello, two violins, some muggle instrument called a guitar that she never quite got the hang of, and her favorite, her baby, her beauty, the love of her life- a grand piano.

The piano was her escape. She had started learning during the lessons that every child of a noble house received starting at three. By six, the lessons had stopped for one reason: Alex didn’t want them. At the time, she had wondered if Lily and James had even remembered that she took the lessons, too. But even after the lessons ended, she kept playing. 

She would freely admit that it was at least partially out of spite- it was a skill Alex would never be able to learn and a skill Lily and James had no hand in cultivating. It was a bit of a spit in the face to become the perfect heiress for the rest of the world when they clearly didn’t want one at all.

Mostly, though, she just loved playing piano. It calmed her to hit the keys in the way she had practiced most of her life and to make music exactly how it was supposed to sound or better. She played for at least an hour every day, and at eight, she could play hundreds of songs perfectly without any sheet music. Given, some of them were fairly easy songs, but still. It was easily her proudest accomplishment.

With a final sigh, she retreated from her spying spot and sat on the white leather piano bench, spreading her dress out around her and draping her wrap over one shoulder so that it hit the floor instead of being sat on. She flipped through her mental playlist and settled on a haunting melody with operatic accompaniments and a background violin part that she usually sang. 

Her slim fingers settled on the keys, and her eyes drooped closed as she played. With each note and chord, each high call a prayer to the goddesses, she felt her thoughts, her worries, floating away. Meaningless. Each time the song ended, she would make up a verse to connect it and return to the beginning. She found herself so lost in her playing that she didn’t even notice when someone joined her in her hideout.

Until the violin started.

Her eyes flew open, but she didn’t pause her playing. Stopping would mean talking, and it would mean giving the other person the upper hand. The guest simply smiled and continued to play the violin part in time with her piano. She played a little faster, sang a little louder. She could feel her magic itself flowing into the keys, brought out by her excitement in someone listening to her play. When the song finally finished with a soft fade, she turned around to see the stranger fully.

Her intruder was woman, probably around her parents’ age, if a few years younger. She had messy dark curls that gave her a dramatic sort of halo and large dark eyes framed by long lashes and thick brows. Her skin was pale and unblemished, seeming even more so against her blue-black gown.

“You play beautifully,” the woman told her.

Ana blushed with pride and murmured her thanks.

“My apologies for stealing up your violin like that,” she said. “That’s one of my favorite songs; I couldn’t help but join in, and I didn’t want to stop you. I heard your music, just a little, from downstairs. I had to find the source.”

“Forgiven and forgotten, Miss,” Ana replied with a smile. “You are very talented at the violin. I can play, but nowhere near as well.”

The woman gave a tinkling laugh. “Time will change that, I’m sure, but thank you nonetheless. And pardon me for not introducing myself. I am Lady Bellatrix of the Ancient and Noble House of Lestrange.”

Ana’s breath caught slightly. She had heard James talking about Bellatrix Lestrange to his colleagues, and he had nothing good to say. She knew was that Lady Lestrange was strongly suspected as the Dark Lord’s right hand, maybe even consort, but that there was no proof of her crimes, and she bore no mark. It was a cause for endless frustration in James Potter. To Ana, this meant that she was probably a powerful, impressive, and interesting woman. She had decided a long time ago that the more James, Lily, and Alex hated something, the more intriguing, and most likely better, it was.

Ana stood and bobbed a curtsey. Only a first level curtsey, as she was an heiress and in her own home. “Lovely met, Lady Lestrange. I am Heiress Anastasia of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter.”

“Lovely met.” Lady Lestrange tilted her head slightly. “Not the, er, excitable boy at the party?” she asked, referring to the heirship.

“We’re twins,” Ana explained. “I was born first, though not by much.”

“Meaning no offense, Heiress Potter, but I haven’t seen much about you in the papers.”

Ana answered the implied question carefully. “There is little room for me beside the Boy-Who-Lived, Lady Lestrange.”

“So your picture perfect family ignores you to pay attention to the red and gold horror in the ballroom,” Lady Lestrange said bluntly, a smirk playing at her lips.

Ana couldn’t hold back a sardonic grin of her own. “So others do notice my brother’s lack of refinement,” she commented, choosing to neither confirm nor deny her family’s neglect.

“He reached to shake my hand,” Lady Lestrange deadpanned.

Ana grimaced. He should have given a second level bow and kissed her hand. Even if they were to shake hands, a gentleman would never initiate when meeting a lady. “He did the same with the French Minister,” she admitted, relishing in the opportunity to speak with someone who didn’t kiss her brother’s boots. Not that he wore any, not when he had the option of muggle tennis shoes.

Lady Lestrange seemed torn between dropping her jaw and grinning ear to ear. “You cannot be serious?”

“Il ne parle même pas Français,” she sighed.

The only word for Lady Lestrange’s reaction was cackled.

“If you wish,” Lady Lestrange said carefully, once she had finished laughing, “you may call me Bellatrix, Lady Bellatrix, or my Lady.”

Ana’s eyes widened slightly before she controlled her expression. “I would be honored. Please, Ana or Heiress Ana is enough for me.”

“I am honored as well. But perhaps Anastasia? It is a more fitting name for a girl so lovely and regal.”

Ana- no, Anastasia- couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “That would be fine. My, er, family is of the opinion that Anastasia is too _pretentious_ and _assuming_ for someone like me.”

“An ancient and noble name for an Ancient and Noble heiress,” she said simply.

“My words almost verbatim. Though I suppose it is to be expected. They perform none of the customs at home.”

“They?”

“I am rarely found with them, Lady Bellatrix,” she said softly.

“By whose choice?”

Anastasia did not dignify that with an answer, though that may have been an answer by itself.

The older woman chewed on her lip. “Do you know Genesis?” she asked instead.

Anastasia lit up. “I’m learning it now. I have it almost memorized, but I still use the music for now."

Lady Bellatrix gestured at her. “What do you say, my little Anastasia? Shall we play?”

Anastasia nodded and pulled the sheet music from a folder at her feet.

The two women played the soulful song, Anastasia singing the lyrics louder than she usually dared, but Lady Bellatrix being with her and pitching in low harmonies fuelled her confidence. The lyrics themselves seemed fitting, if a bit suspicious at second thought.

Anastasia felt as though this was her genesis, a pivotal moment in her own story. She had met someone powerful, someone she could maybe look to as a role model. She was interesting and clever and talented. Knowing a woman like Lady Bellatrix, and being on a first name basis, could do her loads of good in the future.

She knew, of course, what her parents, James especially, would say. Lily would say Lady Lestrange was going to hurt her, and James that she was corrupting her, turning her to the ways of the dark. The music would seem like proof, an admission that she was somehow dark for enjoying the Dark woman’s company on her birthday that her own parents forgot.

They played a few more songs after that. It didn’t really occur to Anastasia, but they must have been up there for the better part of an hour.

The last song ended and the silence, for once, seemed calm instead of lonely or oppressive.

“Have you ever thought about playing professionally?” Lady Bellatrix asked after a few moments.

“As a career?” Anastasia asked, with a frown.

“Not necessarily. You don’t have to try for a future as a singer for the radio or anything. But perhaps at parties?” she suggested. “The Potters are an exception, I suppose, but most parties and galas have dancing, and the host would hire someone to play, generally a pianist. It would only be background music and perhaps one or two songs as a performance if the host were a friend, but you could practice, earn a few spare galleons for yourself, and get yourself out in society.”

“I suppose…” Anastasia mused. It certainly could be helpful. She loved piano, and she definitely wanted some money that wasn’t linked to the Potters. And making connections in high society would only be a good thing. They would know her for her skills and perhaps later her opinions, instead of not knowing of her at all, or worse, knowing her as the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived.

“I am throwing a party tomorrow night at Lestrange Manor for Lughnasadh. How would you like to play there?”

Anastasia met her eyes. “Do you really mean that?”

Lady Bellatrix raised an amused brow. “Do you call me a liar, Heiress?”

“Of course not,” she denied. _But I don’t trust favors,_ was implied.

“I had already booked a musician,” she admitted, inspecting a small curl that she had twisted around her finger. “But they had to cancel. I would be very disappointed if my party was made a laughingstock for its lack of music when you could so easily make the entire problem disappear.”

Anastasia would have sagged in relief had that been appropriate. She knew Lady Bellatrix was only saying it like that to humor her, but that was the language she preferred. You didn’t have to trust anyone if everything was a deal, if everyone was self-serving. To some, perhaps it would seem lonely, but to her it was safe. The lack of trust allowed for a different kind of trust, a far stronger one.

“I would be honored, Lady Bellatrix,” she responded.

“Lovely." Lady Bellatrix proceeded to list off all the types of songs she would need to know, and _Merlin_ , she had no idea how she'd remember them. "Oh, and choose something as an exit song. I will join you for that one, as is proper, on the violin. I expect to be impressed with your choice.”

Anastasia repeated the list as a mantra in her head, not wanting to disappoint the wonderful woman before her. She nodded dutifully and smiled. 

“If all goes well, as I’m sure it will, you will receive two hundred galleons at the end of the night.”

Anastasia openly gaped. Two hundred galleons! She doubted James and Lily had spent that much money on her total since the Night. 

“It’s a bit low, I’ll tell you now,” the Lady warned. “If you are approached with offers, do not settle for so low a price. However, as the one taking a risk and introducing you to society, I get special rates,” she said with a smirk.

“You’re just smug that you’re the patron to a child of one of the lightest families around,” she blurted. She blanched, slapping a hand over her mouth.

Her companion threw her head back in laughter. “So true!” she exclaimed. “The irony doesn't escape me, and I will admit freely to getting a certain satisfaction from introducing you to a part of society your parents never would have. Alas, they forfeited any say they could have in your society role when they didn’t introduce to anyone, even their own faction. But mostly, I do find your skills impressive, I do need a pianist, I cannot, in good conscience, let a child be blocked from society, and, mostly,” she looked almost a little embarrassed, though it could just be the light, “I like you, little one. You will be a very interesting woman one day.”

“Do you think I’ll ever be as pretty as you?” Anastasia asked shyly. She wanted nothing more than to be just like Bellatrix Lestrange. No one would ever forget about Bellatrix Lestrange. 

Lady Bellatrix smiled. “I’m quite certain you’ll be even prettier, little Anastasia.”

Anastasia practically glowed.

“Now, I always carry portkeys to the Manor, so I’ll loan you one to use tomorrow. Come over as soon as you can after one. It is entirely understandable if you can’t get away, but we will need time to prepare. Now, why don’t we decide what you should wear, hmm?”

Anastasia led Lady Lestrange to her bedroom, which was impeccably clean, unlike Alex’s mess. She threw open the doors to her closet, a room about half the size of her bedroom with rows of dresses, robes, muggle clothes, shoes, and jewelry. The Potters may have ignored her, but she wasn’t above sneaking out to go shopping with their money.

“Wear something similar to your getup tonight, but not in white. Performers don’t wear white.”

Anastasia frowned. “What are the colors for your decor and what does your piano look like?”

Lady Bellatrix shot her an approving look. “Azure and bronze is the theme and our piano and seat are black.”

Anastasia thought hard about every dress she remembered owning before finally settling on one she had bought a few months ago. “Would you like me to try something on for you to approve?”

“That would be lovely.”

Anastasia quickly decided that the outfit she had chosen was her new favorite ever. The baby blue gown was sleeveless, but had attached pieces of chiffon that would drape loosely over her upper arms and trail past her fingers elegantly as she played. The bodice of the dress was form fitting, not that she was old enough to have much of a form, and had small rose gold butterflies scattered across it in tulle. The skirt exploded below her waist with a layer of tulle over silk for a lighter, more summery look. The hem reached a few inches above her ankles in the front and trailed a few inches on the ground behind her. 

She paired the gown with bronze flats with a pointed toe. Her cloak had no hood and was pinned at each shoulder instead of in front. It was blue like her dress, almost white at her shoulders and deepening to a slightly darker hue than her dress by the bottom. It was three dimensional, rose gold butterflies danced over it. She wore rose gold bands up her arms and a small chain around her neck with a moonstone pendant. She didn’t have time to redo her hair, but she would probably wear the same style as it was. She snatched a rose gold glittery lip gloss and swiped it over her lips before stepping out.

She walked up to Lady Bellatrix with her head held high and a small smile gracing her lips. She gave a twirl. “What do you think?”

“You look beautiful, Anastasia,” she told her. “You may need to watch out for betrothal offers.”

Anastasia blanched.

“Not really, darling,” she assured her with a laugh. “All I mean is that if this is what you look like now, you will break a great many hearts when you are a bit older.”

“Thank you,” she said, blushing.

“Now, I fear it is too far into the morning for me to stay much longer, but here,” she said regretfully, pulling off a slim gold ring on her left pinky and handing it to Anastasia. “This will take you to the manor. To activate it, you must press your lips to it and say _perrara._ Oh, and happy birthday, Anastasia.”

She gave one last smile and touched her pendent lightly before muttering something and disappearing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party arrives.

The next day passed like a blur. Anastasia ate a late breakfast with James, Lily, and Alex. All they could talk about was the different people Alex had met, the different gifts Alex had received, the different things Alex was going to do the rest of the summer. It was annoying. It would have been painful.

But Anastasia had a secret.

She had kept secrets from her family before. Sneaking out to go shopping for clothes and books alike, the balcony and her continuation of her lessons, and the nature of some of the books she read, among others. But this one felt different. This one was a secret she had with someone else. This one was about going somewhere fun and exclusive that Alex couldn’t go even if he wanted to.

All she could think about was that night and as soon as the clock chimed one, she ran from where she was practicing in the balcony to her closet and spent the next half-hour getting ready. When she was sure she was ready, she pressed her lips to the ring and whispered the activation.

The portkey landed her in the foyer of the Manor. She could tell already that she liked Lestrange manor far more than Potter Manor. The foyer was done in the theme of the party, and was one of the most charming things she had ever laid eyes on.

She looked around for a sign of Lady or Lord Lestrange, but couldn’t find anything. 

“Erm, Elf?” she called out hopefully. 

Immediately, a female house elf in a dark bronze toga appeared before her. “You must be Miss Ana,” was the first thing out of her mouth. “I’m Odette. Mistress Bella said you would be coming. Follow me; I’ll show you to Mistress Bella’s rooms.”

Anastasia followed obediently. “Say, Odette, I mean no offense by this, but your name and the way you talk are a lot more, er, similar to wizards’ than the other house elves I know. Why is that?”

“I have been bonded to the family for a long time, Miss Ana. Elves bonded with traditional bonding ceremonies are connected to the family magics. The ceremony is frowned upon now, especially in more light-oriented families, so the elves bonded in the new ceremony are weaker and less intelligent. The names are just chosen by the family. A proper family like Mistress Bella’s picks proper names,” Odette explained.

Anastasia was fascinated. She had never read anything about such a thing, though she was more inclined to doubt the accuracy of the books than the house elf’s own words.

“Thank you for explaining that, Odette,” she said kindly. “I had no idea.”

“Most don’t,” Odette said simply. “Here we are. Mistress Bella’s rooms.”

Odette popped away and Ana was left staring at a rather grand set of double doors. Shrugging internally, she knocked.

The door flew open almost immediately, and she was faced with Lady Lestrange and a man she didn’t recognize.

“Anastasia!” Lady Bellatrix exclaimed, the glint in her eye either excited or devilish, Anastasia couldn’t decide.

“Lovely met, my Lady,” she replied with a small curtsy, only a first level, as they were technically on a first name basis.

“You as well, darling. Now, you simply must meet Rabastan,” she said, gesturing to the men on either side of her.

“Merry meet, Lord Lestrange,” she said, giving a second level curtsy.

“Well met,” he replied. “Bellatrix has not stopped gushing about you since she returned last night. I’m quite intrigued.”

Anastasia felt her face warm. Lily had never gushed about her to anyone.

Sensing her embarrassment, Bellatrix cut in, “You look stunning, love. Even better than last night if I do say so myself. Does she not, Rabastan?”

“She does us quite the honor,” he said kindly. “Now, what are the chances of me getting to hear you play before my lovely ex-sister-in-law drags you off to get dressed?”

Anastasia giggled. “I would be honored to play for you, My Lord. Where is your piano?”

“I have one in here, darling,” the Lady informed her, pulling her to it by hand. “Have you chosen your exit song?”

Lord Lestrange raised a brow. “You let her pick the exit song? How… unusual,” he commented under his breath.

“I wanted to see what she’d pick,” Bellatrix huffed defensively at the same volume.

“It’s called Nocturne,” she said shyly. “I’m not sure if you’d know it. It’s an old Celtic song, but I’ll be doing the translated version. I brought sheet music for violin if you would like it to practice.”

Bellatrix scanned the hand drawn music and smiled. “It looks lovely. Play for us what you can without the rest of the accompaniment.”

Anastasia settled herself on the piano bench and placed her fingers on the keys. She let her eyelids fall closed and began to play. 

_“Now let the day_

_Just slip away_

_So the dark night may watch over you”_

As she played, Bellatrix gazed at her with a fondness she hadn’t felt in years. She had tried for children with Rudolphus, and then a few times after he had been taken to Azkaban, but her attempts were in vain. From what she understood, something like that could damage her body and magic too much to try again.

Rabastan was simply astounded. A child having so much talent was unheard of, and it almost going to waste if not for Bellatrix seemed a tragedy.

_“We will fly, claim the sky_ _  
_ _We don't have to wonder why_ _  
_ _Always be, always see_   
Come and dream the night with me”

Her voice made the sweet lullaby seem haunting, as if there were a deeper, darker meaning that everyone else was just too stupid to understand. Bellatrix and Rabastan found themselves feeling rather proud of the girl’s ability to pull off a type of air that every pureblood tried for.

_“Though darkness lay_

_It will give way_

_When the dark night delivers the day_

_Nocturne”_

Anastasia finished the song off a capella, holding out the last, soulful note for a few beats more than normal. She glanced up at Lord and Lady Lestrange nervously, wanting to prove to Lord Lestrange that she was worth his and Lady Bellatrix’s time, and to impress Lady Bellatrix with her choice in song.

“That was lovely,” Lord Lestrange said honestly. “I look forward to hearing more at the party.”

Anastasia smiled and bobbed her head in a sort of seated curtsey. “Thank you my lord.”

Rabastan gave her a short bow and kissed her hand before excusing himself from Bellatrix’s chambers. The next few hours were spent running through each song she had chosen and helping Bellatrix prepare both herself and her home for the party.

Lady Bellatrix, as it turned out, had trained Odette to do proper makeup, and what she ended up with was far superior to anything Anastasia could do herself. 

As Anastasia was adjusting Lady Bellatrix’s cape, she finally voiced the question that had been worrying her. “Will anyone at the party wish me harm?”

“Hmm?” she replied distractedly.

“Because of my name. I have heard many things about the… people you have most likely invited, and I doubt they are on good terms with the Potters. If you can excuse my bluntness.”

“Perhaps,” Lady Bellatrix mused. “Then we will not tell anyone who you really are,” she decided. “The mystery will make it all the more exciting.”

Anastasia sighed in relief. “Thank you, milady. It had been on my mind.”

“And to imagine their faces when they finally find out who the mysterious musical sensation is…” she continued with a wicked smirk. “Oh, it will be beautiful.”

_That it would be,_ Anastasia thought. _If she survived the encounter._

The woman grasped her wrist suddenly. She waved her wand and held out an exquisite mask. The rose gold piece fit snugly over her nose to cover her eyes and forehead. It was shaped to look like the wings of a butterfly spread over her cheeks. As she slid it on, she felt like a true mystery, a stranger in her own skin. It was a sensation that she loved.

The clock finally chimed seven, and the women decided it was time to face the incoming crowds. Anastasia took her place on the piano bench, letting her fingers dance over the keys in a charming melody.

Lady Bellatrix stood by the door to the ballroom with Lord Lestrange. She wore a gown with a bronze bodice that showed off her figure and a white skirt. Pinned over one shoulder was her cornflower blue chiffon cape. She wore rose gold sandals with dark green leaves curling over the heels. She looked regal, everything Anastasia hoped to be someday.

The first guests to arrive were the Malfoys. Narcissa was, after all, Lady Lestrange’s sister, so it would not be a faux-pas in the least for her to be early. She had never met Lord and Lady Malfoy, but she had heard a good bit about them from her parents, and Alex was always going on about how much he detested the youngest Malfoy. Scion Malfoy had come to Potter Manor a few times when they were younger for Alex’s parties or gatherings with the other children from important families. Anastasia had never met him herself, but from what she understood, three visits were enough for Alex to decide that Scion Malfoy was a spoiled prat and for James and Lily to decide that he would grow up to be the Evil Dark Slytherin that his father was.

Coming from Alex, she wasn’t sure if spoiled meant more spoiled than Alex himself, if that was possible, or if Scion Malfoy was simply the only one among his peers who was willing to call him out on his poor manners. She found herself quite intrigued.

Lady Malfoy greeted her sister with a kiss on the cheek and an honest smile. As they were the only ones there, there was no need for any further formalities. She then caught sight of Anastasia on the other side of the ballroom.

“She plays beautifully,” Anastasia heard her comment. Lady Malfoy took notice of her dark ringlets, fair skin, and flawless posture. “Is she your daughter that you simply failed to tell us about?”

Anastasia couldn’t be certain, but she thought she heard Lady Bellatrix mutter, “I only wish.”

She resolved to never disappoint her.

“Merry meet, Auntie Bella,” she heard a younger voice speak up.

“Draco, darling!” Bellatrix exclaimed. “How lovely to see you again.”

So that was Scion Malfoy. He seemed polite, though she couldn’t pass judgement so soon. The two families exchanged pleasantries and casual conversation which Anastasia chose to tune out in favor of her playing. 

More families trickled in, and within an hour or so, the ballroom was filled with people, the crowd spilling into the gardens just outside. Anastasia played song after song, dance after dance, and watched the people around her with all the curiosity fitting of a child who had never had the chance to be part of a party before. She caught snatches of conversations as people passed the piano. 

“The bill Rowle is trying to pass”

“A betrothal contract would be beneficial”

“I think I may vote neutral next month, just to smooth things over”

“Here, try some champagne.”

The last one was from Lady Bellatrix. The hostess was leaning against the piano, three glasses of champagne in her hand. She had a devilish grin on her lips, but Anastasia figured that was just her normal smile.

She giggled. “My hands are a bit preoccupied, milady.”

The Lady sighed, placing two of the glasses on the piano. “Perhaps later then. How are you enjoying the party, love?”

“Oh it’s wonderful,” Anastasia exclaimed, leaning into a high chord. “It’s so beautiful, and I’m surrounded by smart, important people. Merlin, I just want to absorb it all.”

Bellatrix smiled even bigger, but it was tinged with sadness and anger. She was glad the girl was having fun, and her comment on finally being around smart people amused her to no end, but it shouldn’t have been her first party, not as the Potter heiress anyway. She knew they threw at least three galas each year; had Anastasia really never been to any of them? She was purely indignant.

“Say, how would you like to meet some people?” she asked. It would be important to show to at least a few people that, yes, the girl could be hired to play, but she was Bellatrix’s first. “I can’t introduce you to everyone; that would take too long and they would want to know your name, but at least some closer friends. What do you say, darling?”

“That would be wonderful, milady,” Anastasia said, almost missing a note in her excitement.

She finished the song off with a harsh decrescendo and slipped out of the seat.

Lady Bellatrix shot a spell towards the piano that would play background music, nothing fancy, just enough that people wouldn’t be confused at the sudden silence, and led her through the crowd of people, most of whom were eating since she had stopped the music. They passed a few people she recognized: the minister, the Malfoys, the Odgens, the Shafiqs, the Fawleys. Malfoy and the minister were obvious ones, but the others she had seen at various events the Potters had thrown. They were fellow members of the Sacred Twenty-eight and, as they had stayed neutral during the war, the Potters had no excuse not to invite them. 

She knew they wouldn’t remember her; she could only remember attending one party, and she was so young and had left so quickly. She still walked a little faster as she passed them.

“Now, love,” her companion said as they approached the Malfoys, “you must meet my dear sister and her husband.”

Anastasia curtseyed politely. “Merry meet, Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy.”

“Well met,” Lord Malfoy replied with a curt nod. 

“Yes, lovely met,” Lady Malfoy agreed. “Erm…” she trailed off.

“Our lovely performer here will be remaining anonymous,” Lady Bellatrix jumped in, saving her from having to explain. “For security purposes. It would do her no favors to be caught here.”

“And yet she comes regardless,” Lord Malfoy mused. “How… interesting.”

Anastasia quickly decided that she did not like Lord Malfoy. His manner towards her reminded her too much of James and Lily. They did the same thing. Their words were polite and barely biting, but their tones were like muddy ice, cold and disgusted. 

“Certainly, milord,” she said, refusing to back down the way she did with James and Lily. “I wish to escape the confines of my name but find that I cannot do that without first proving my worth to an unbiased crowd. I am sure a man like you would not find yourself victim to unfounded prejudices based on stereotypes that the party in question clearly wishes to defy,” she simpered, her voice lifting at the end in question, “but how am I to know if I can say the same about everyone else?” 

Lord Malfoy’s brow shot up and his jaw clenched visibly at her borderline challenge. She could see his knuckles turn white as his fist tightened on his cane. Anastasia’s breathing quickened as his anger grew tangible, and she was in the process of backing away when Lady Malfoy’s laughter jolted her from her trance.

“Bella, dear, she is positively delightful,” she exclaimed. “I absolutely must introduce her to our Draconis; I’m sure they’d get along wonderfully.”

Lady Bellatrix’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder. “Perhaps another time, sister. I just wanted to help her do the rounds before she gets back to playing.”

“Mmm,” Lady Malfoy hummed noncommittally. “So where did you learn to play so well? You gave us one of the best cotillions I can remember.

“Thank you, milady,” Anastasia murmured. “Ja- My parents had tutors until Ale... until I was six, and I never dropped the skill. It’s always been an escape, I suppose.”

Lady Malfoy’s lips pursed for a moment in a hint of disapproval- why in Merlin’s name would any self-respecting family chose to deny their child a proper education? 

“Then your commitment is to all our benefit,” was all she said. 

Anastasia bobbed a curtsey.

Lady Bellatrix looked at her fondly before turning to her sister and adopting a devious expression. “So Narcissa, love, what is this I hear from Eugene about a betrothal contract?”

“Lord Parkinson has approached us with interest of a match between Draconis and Pansy,” Lady Malfoy said primly.

“And do you have plans to accept?” Bellatrix asked, leaning forward.

“I confess I was hoping he would marry up,” she admitted, leaning in so as not to be overheard. “We already have Rigel to carry on the Malfoy name. But he and Pansy get along quite well. We are certainly considering it.”

Anastasia furrowed her brow in confusion as Lady Bellatrix looked at her sister knowingly. 

“That’s good to hear, love,” she said. She turned to Anastasia. “Come along, darling, there are a few others it would do you well to meet.”

Anastasia turned to curtsey to Lord and Lady Malfoy. “Merry part, milady, milord.”

“Well parted, little mystery.”

Lady Bellatrix shoved a glass of champagne into her hands and pulled her to the next family.

“Lord Greengrass,” she greeted.

“Lady Lestrange,” he replied with a tight smile. “Wonderful party tonight.”

“Thank you, Colin. Now let me introduce you to our musician of the night.”

They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes until a girl about Anastasia’s age appeared behind Lady Greengrass. Anastasia assumed it was her daughter based on how similar they looked.

“Daphne, darling, this is Lady Lestrange’s new protegee and, apparently, musician. She’s about your age, I… presume. I’m sure you could be lovely friends.”

Anastasia curtseyed nervously and greeted the other girl. She had never had a friend before, and she had no idea what to do. But as she watched the girl with the long golden hair and the sparkling blue eyes and the elegance of a true lady, she knew that she definitely wanted to be friends.

Little did she know that Daphne was having almost the exact same thoughts. Lady Lestrange explained how the girl would be anonymous to keep her safe, primarily from her own family, and Daphne was intrigued to say the least. The girl was very pretty, had wonderful taste, perfect pureblood manners, and musical skill that Daphne knew she would never have. Why would her family not want her at one of the most important high society parties of the year? Were they light, then? And if so, how did she get here at all? And how did she meet Lady Lestrange of all people? And why had Daphne never met her? So many questions…

But Daphne Greengrass was nothing if not determined. She saw the beautiful girl by Lady Lestrange’s side and decided that she wanted to be friends with her. Whatever it took. And Daphne Greengrass always got what she wanted.

“I love your playing,” Daphne chose to say. “Most of the music at these parties is a bit dull, but not yours.”

“Thank you, Heiress,” Anastasia said with a grin. “I love your dress,” she complimented, referring to the girl’s cornflower blue mermaid dress.

Daphne smiled and twirled, the gown spinning out around her ankles.

“Darling,” Lady Bellatrix cut in. “How about you two head back to the piano together. I’m sorry to cut your rounds short, but we can’t have people wondering where the nice music went.”

“Of course, milady.”

“We host a ball for Mabon on the 23rd of September,” Lady Greengrass spoke up, reaching out to place her hand on Anastasia’s wrist. “Would you play there? We will, of course, pay you for your services.”

Anastasia looked up at Lady Bellatrix, who gave the girl a small nod. Anastasia turned back to the Greengrasses and smiled. “I would be honored, milady.”

“Perfect.” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I assume that I can’t contact you directly if you won’t even offer your name, so…”

“Send the details to me,” Lady Lestrange cut in. She turned to Anastasia and leaned to murmur in her ear, “We’ll discuss a way to stay in contact.”

“Wonderful,” Lady Greengrass said with a smug smile that Anastasia didn’t quite understand the reasons behind. “I hope to see you soon.”

Anastasia gave Daphne an apologetic smile, but Daphne just grabbed her hand. “Come on. Would you play ‘Lovely? I’m trying to learn it, but piano isn’t really my forte,” she said with a giggle. “I only know the violin part.”

Did Daphne really want to spend more time with her? Anastasia wondered. Was this something friends did? 

She nodded. “Of course, Heiress. I was just playing it the other day.” She blushed awkwardly and asked, “Would you like to play it with me on violin? Only if you want to, of course, but it does sound better with another part…”

Daphne lit up. “I would love to!” she exclaimed. “And please, call me Daphne. It feels odd for you to use my title when I don’t know if I should be using one as well.”

“Alright. Daphne.”

They played through the song and Anastasia couldn’t stop smiling. She looked over at the blonde perched on the seat beside her. She liked having a friend. 

Whispers followed their performance.

“Enchanting”

“Perfect together”

“My party this autumn”

But they were not all so positive.

“Is she an heiress as well?”

“Why is the Greengrass heiress acting as a simple entertainer?”

“What the hell are they doing?”

That was a main one. 

But Daphne didn’t seem to care, setting down the violin and kissing her cheek. So Anastasia wouldn’t care either. She could overlook the whispers or the disapproval. She was used to tuning those out. No, she would focus on the fact that she was _performing music_ with a _friend._

She should have been doing it with Alex, she thought with a sigh, switching her music for a waltz. Siblings would always perform at balls and galas for everyone to see. She knew the Patil twins did so sometimes, though she had never seen it herself. Lily would come home from a party talking loudly about Padma and Parvati’s performance and how they were the perfect twins, and so pretty too.

Lily would often follow this by encouraging Alex to take back up an instrument, but he would always refuse. And Lily would always back down for fear of upsetting her perfect, beautiful baby. It made Anastasia sick.

She played for what felt like forever, playing sets of songs and dances and watching everyone dance to _her music_. It was amazing. She took one or two other breaks, during which Lady Bellatrix introduced her to the Avery’s, the Flints, and the Zabini’s.

The Zabini’s were the only ones she had any real interest in seeing again. Blaise was her age and Bianca was two years older. They were both very nice and funny, and Bianca cooed over her dress and her hair in a way she imagined a big sister would.

Then she met Lady Zabini. She had heard rumors about Lady Zabini that said she had killed each of her seven husbands. They called her the Black Widow.

Anastasia thought she was amazing.

The woman had a presence that she couldn’t even compare to anything else. She was just so charming and perfect. She oozed not-caring, with slightly course manners and an addictively assertive way of speaking. No one _ever_ messed with her. That was mostly due to her reputation, but Anastasia had no issues with that either. How could she blame someone for killing their husbands when Anastasia herself often fantasized about killing her own family? Feeling a knife slide in and out of their empty heads, watching flames heat their cold hearts until they burned alive. Who was she to judge? Instead, after only a few minutes, she was practically idolizing the woman.

The Avery’s were nice enough, if a bit dull. Gaius and Corintha Avery ran a law firm, which would likely have been fascinating had she understood a word of their discussion with Lady Lestrange. Their son, Corvus, was a year older than her and seemed rather annoyed the whole time, though whether it was at her or at the party itself she was unsure.

The Flints- well, they were interesting to say the least. Their heir, Marcus, wasn’t _rude_ per se, but he appeared quite intimidating and did nothing to change that image. Perhaps he would be better when she was older. The Flints were a minor Noble family, not old enough to be Ancient, but Lord Flint’s great-great-grandfather had been given a Lordship for… something. Lady Bellatrix had explained it all before introducing her, but Anastasia couldn’t remember. The whole family acted like perhaps they felt rather out of place at such a high society party, and that gave them an air of simultaneous over-confidence and insecurity. It was a strange encounter, to say the least.

But most of her night was spent at the piano, playing her heart out as people danced.

Anastasia wasn’t stupid. She knew she was close to a prodigy at piano. But hearing the applause and the acknowledgement of her skill made her feel like she was about to burst from giddiness. She wondered if there was a better feeling in all the world than being _seen_ like that. She certainly couldn’t imagine one.

She played through her exit song, Nocturne, with Lady Bellatrix, and she took back everything she had thought about the earlier applause. As she collapsed into bed that night, her dress tossed randomly into her closet, she was lulled to sleep by the memory of the cheers for her and the most amazing woman she had ever met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song here is Nocturne by the Secret Garden. It's really a gorgeous song, and my ma used to sing it to me when I was younger, so I thought I'd include it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes. Secrets come out.

Summer faded into autumn faded into winter with Anastasia in a bit of a daze. Her head was up in the clouds with happiness, and the clouds acted as a shield around her for everything that tried to hurt her. Alex’s comments bounced right off her, as did James and Lily’s general obliviousness to her existence.

Because Anastasia had seen things. She felt as though she had seen the whole world in one night, checked every last corner and met every type of person. The night after her birthday, to her, felt like years and years of exploring, and she had become the most travelled and worldly girl in all of Britain.

She spent her days dreaming and practicing, as she had to make sure each performance was better than the last. Lady Bellatrix had even set her up a small vault at Gringotts that held all her earnings from the parties, and she wore the delicate gold key around her neck on a slim black ribbon.

The goblins were a godsend, honestly, as they didn’t care whatsoever who anyone associated with or did with their money, and had no interest in getting involved in Wizards’ squabbles. A few extra galleons, and their silence was assured. 

She was getting quite a bit of money from the parties as well, so she had no complaints about the work it took.

The Greengrasses’ party at Mabon had been perfect, not to mention that she got to see Daphne again. 

She really had missed her. After all, as they had no way to stay in contact, she hadn’t seen her in nearly two months. She had nearly expected that the girl would have forgotten her, or at least moved on to someone far more interesting or deserving of her attention, but as soon as she had arrived, Daphne had practically run down the stairs of Greengrass Manor, her robes only half on, just to greet her. 

She had paused to dip a curtsy before wrapping Anastasia in a tight embrace and starting on her goal of jabbering the other girl’s ear off. Daphne was far more talkative than she, and Anastasia appreciated the easy conversation as she helped her friend finish getting ready and set up for the party.

She had gotten more jobs throughout the course of the night and she was thrilled beyond belief to find that she would have a job at least once a month for quite a while.

After that came a coming out party for the Zatara heiress and her twin brother, Mia and Maddox. She would be lying if she claimed that one in particular was a bit distressing. She doubted she would be getting a coming out party at all, and even if she did, it certainly wouldn’t be alongside Alex. But she couldn’t very well turn down that party without an excuse, so she pushed her way through it. After that came a few parties around Samhain, and a funeral for the former Lady Bulstrode.

It wasn’t until the Malfoy’s Yule Ball that anything of particular interest occurred.

Lady Bellatrix had instructed her to come quite early, with the explanation that she would be helping them set up. Anastasia wondered how true that was, given the veritable army of house-elves bonded to the Malfoy family, but she wasn’t one to argue without reason. 

She came through the Malfoys’ floo at precisely 5:00 in the afternoon, and found herself moderately but not unpleasantly surprised to find the Malfoys and Lady Bellatrix waiting for her in the floo parlor.

“Anastasia!” Lady Bellatrix cried. “Merry meet, darling. You look wonderful.”

It took her about ten seconds to realize why the Lord and Lady Malfoy were staring at her in shock.  _ Anastasia. _

She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, and not in the way of the delicate blush that her mother got, but in the face-the-color-of-a-tomato, bright red flush that covered her neck. Even if the Malfoys wouldn’t be able to tell through her mask, she felt as though she had been lit on fire. Perhaps she had been. Perhaps she would be- she had no idea how they would take the news of her identity.

“Milady?” she squeaked, wincing at her own lack of propriety.

Lady Bellatrix didn’t seem to notice her, however, too busy cackling at the expressions on her sister’s and her family’s faces. Finally, Rabastan turned to her instead, his eyes shining with mirth, and he brushed off Anastasia’s concern. “Oh, you didn’t think my lovely ex-sister-in-law would keep this from her sister forever, did you, Miss Potter?”

Well, yes, actually, she had. That was generally what one assumed when one was told that someone would be keeping something secret to protect one’s safety. But she couldn’t very well say that to Lord Lestrange.

“I don’t suppose,” Lady Malfoy asked finally, regaining control of her function, “that you could mean  _ the _ Potter girl, dear sister? I don’t suppose you mean the twin of the Light’s savior, isn’t that right,  _ dear sister _ ?”

“Of course not,” Lady Bellatrix dismissed her. “I simply meant the other Anastasia Potter whose very identity would put her in so much danger in our side of Society that she’s remained anonymous for the past six months.”

“I don’t have the patience for your games today, Bella,” Lady Malfoy said sharply, shutting her eyes for a moment as if to block out her sister’s very presence. “I would simply like some clarification as to why you have brought a child of the Lightest of families into our home and our side of Society.”

“Well, it’s been great fun,” Lady Bellatrix bit back, sarcasm tinging her tone. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, little sister.”

Anastasia swallowed thickly at the nearly tangible heat of the glares between the two sisters. She reached out to steady herself on the back of an unoccupied chair, holding onto the carved wooden details like a lifeline. She wondered briefly if the sisters were about to pull their wands or if they would just continue on with their staring contest, when a sharp laugh snapped them all back to reality. 

Reclining in a high-backed silver velvet armchair, the younger of the Malfoy sons was laughing hysterically, a hand against his mouth in an attempt to keep in the noise.

“Draconis, would you like to explain what is so obscenely funny to you,” Lord Malfoy demanded.

“It’s just- she just-” he broke off into another round of heaving laughs, shooting an expectant look at his brother, who joined his hysterics a few moments later. They kept on for another minute or so, gesturing to each other in a way they seemed to understand, until Lady Malfoy seemed fed up.

“Boys.”

Heir Malfoy was the first to calm down. “My brother and I are simply entertained by the fact that we have the twin sister of the Boy-Who-Lived in our home,” he explained. “I’m sure you understand.”

Scion Malfoy followed his brother’s lead, calming from shrieks to a quiet pant as he struggled to regain his breath. “I’ve met your brother, you see,” he added, directing his comment at Anastasia. “l can't help but imagine his face if he knew you had been sneaking out to see us for the past six months.”

Anastasia almost fainted when Lord Malfoy actually cracked a smile at that, though it disappeared quickly. 

“You must admit, Cissy,” Lady Bellatrix insisted, “that it is rather funny that the new sensation in Dark circles is the daughter of the Potters. Who would ever have guessed?”

Lady Malfoy's expression darkened. "We can discuss this further later, Bella. I have a party to attend to." 

With that, the Lady of the house rose from her seat and swept from the room, her robes billowing behind her. Lord Malfoy followed her, nodding at Anastasia but not sparing her a glance.

She briefly wondered how the Lord and Lady made their robes so dramatic. Perhaps they were charmed.

"I should speak with my sister," Lady Bellatrix said finally, crossing to kiss Anastasia's forehead. "She's upset with me, not you," she murmured into the girl's hair. She patted her cheek, but Anastasia couldn’t quite hold back the following wince. 

“Anastasia?” she asked. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly- too quickly.

The look Lady Bellatrix gave her was as heartbreaking as it was reassuring. She hadn’t even realized one could express both pity and vengefulness so closely. "I'll be back soon."

“I should go as well,” Heir Malfoy admitted. “I doubt my mother is in much of a state to appropriately look after the party as she intends. Merry part, Heiress.”

And then there were two.

“You’re not what I expected,” Scion Malfoy announced abruptly, assessing the girl.

“I could easily say the same for you,” Anastasia replied evenly. It was hard to know what to say around the boy. On one hand, he was just a boy her age, of a slightly lower rank than she, who had just been laughing at the circumstances bringing them together.

On the other hand, he was Lady Bellatrix’s nephew, he knew her secret, he  _ belonged _ there- in the Malfoys’ house, in High Society, at all the parties she had to attend under the guise of a musician. It was quite intimidating.

“Yes, I’m sure you heard all sorts of things about me from the Boy-Who-Lived himself,” he huffed. “All about what a horrid,  _ evil, _ person I am.”

Anastasia hesitated. “Well, yes, actually. A rather similar sentiment, at least.”

“Hmph.”

He said nothing more, content to watch and glare at her from his seat. She met his gaze and watched him back, focusing on the pretty grey of his eyes rather than the ever-building acid of anxiety in her stomach. Her fingers tapped a pattern on the back of the couch,  _ one, two, one, two. _

But her nerves didn’t have to last long.

Soon enough, Heir Malfoy- now Draco to her- broke the silence, and they fell into comfortable, if slightly stilted conversation. He was nothing like her other friends, Daphne and Blaise, but the differences weren’t entirely negative. 

He was more formal, though that may have been a tell more of their lack of familiarity. He seemed more negative than the others as well, what with Daphne’s softness and Blaise’s joking nature, but his dry humor and cynical attitude seemed the type that would lean more towards endearing than draining as they got to know each other better.

It was a relief that they got along. After all, she could never expect Lady Bellatrix to favor her above her own nephew, and she would hate for anything to happen to damage that relationship. Her whole  _ life _ practically rested on Lady Bellatrix’s approval.

Despite the drama beforehand, the party went smoothly. 

Her music underscored the biggest party she had played at yet, with the crowds spilling out of the ballroom- which said something on its own- and far off into the grounds. Apparently this was because the Malfoys gave an invitation to every family that lived on their land, and that was far more people than Anastasia had expected. 

The Potters had a handful of families living on their estate, too; Anastasia could just make out the cluster of houses from the balcony window if she looked hard enough and the day was clear. But most of the families had been cleared out and given houses in the city after the attack, so it was really just the families who had lived there for hundreds of years, and whom it would be entirely improper and generally disrespectful to evict. 

Lady Bellatrix, after a few glasses of champagne, had explained that most of the higher class guests  _ highly _ disapproved of the Malfoys’ choice on that matter, but that the party was far too prestigious to deny an invitation if offered one. Once she knew what she was looking for, it was rather funny to see all the rich people feeling uncomfortable around the normal people.

And honestly, the people who lived on the  _ Malfoys’ _ land weren’t exactly the average citizen as it was. Those people were still very well off, as it was generally the minor Houses who swore a few generations of their family to a higher House. And to be accepted by one like the Malfoys- well, they weren’t all that Minor to begin with.

It only spoke more to how ridiculous the upper class could be.

Perhaps her amusement calmed her nerves, but she barely noticed the time passing, and the party drew to a close with her almost entirely oblivious. She returned to her own home feeling a million times better than she had when she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Malfoys have so little character building I swear. However, they are my best approximation given canon material (though I made up Rigel so not him) of what would happen if they were put in these situations. This being said, keep in mind that Draco is not suddenly a wonderful sweet accepting person just because he's going to be a main character or friends with Anastasia. He's still a prejudiced dick, and he's also a kid. He will be developing and improving, but that's going to be a journey, not an overnight transformation. Same goes for Lucius- he's not an abusive father like a lot of stories write, but he's also not a good person. So.
> 
> There's going to be a lot of time skips in the next couple chapters 'cause I want these babies off at Hogwarts already! I only have a few more scenes to write in the next few chapters, and a few long car rides this holiday season, so you can expect updates soon.
> 
> Let me know what you thought, and I hope you enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time skip about 8 months. Drabble for about a month after Ana's 10th birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't rightfully call this a chapter cuz it's. literally not even a thousand words. but I just wrote it and I already have tomorrow's chapter done, so you get this little thing now :)

Anastasia woke to a loud rap upon her door. 

She blinked the sleep from her eyes, rolling her shoulders back as she flicked her hand to dispel the muffling ward on her door. “Yes?” she called, her voice rough from lack of use. 

She groaned as, after waiting a few seconds, she got no answer. Leaning over to check her clock, she found it was on 4:30 in the morning.  _ Ungodly. _ She pushed back the coverlet and slipped her feet into the slippers beside her bed. The house had no right being so cold in mid August, but her hall was always cold. She wasn’t entirely sure why, and she doubted she’d ever find out.

She could already feel goosebumps forming so she pulled a dressing robe around her shoulders, and she opened the door to reveal her father, with a hand on the doorframe and the other in his hair. 

She pouted internally. She had been dreaming of parties, of lights, of music and dancing and joy- any particular party, or rather, it was, but so many parties cycling so rapidly it no longer mattered which.

She had been dancing with someone, though she couldn’t really make out who. She was being twirled around the room, faster and faster, and with every turn, the party changed. Her head was tilted back to watch the stars which were also the ceiling and, as they went faster and faster, they began to lift off the ground, which may have been a floor or maybe the dirt or maybe it never existed at all, but regardless they flew.

She had never felt anything more wonderful than the almost overly intense freedom of flying. And she had been forced out of her fantasy for  _ him _ .

“We’re headed to the Weasleys’,” he informed her. “We’re going to see the World Cup as a late surprise birthday present for Alex.”

She nodded. “I’ll get dressed.”

He looked like a falcon caught up in a broomstick. “Oh, erm," he stammered. "W-we didn’t actually- I mean, you’ve never showed any interest in Quidditch so- and I know with crowds, you…”

“Of course,” she cut him off, her cheeks burning. Why would she be so  _ stupid _ as to think they would get her a ticket? “I do hope you enjoy yourselves, and please pass my well-wishes along to the Weasleys,” she forced out.

“Yeah,” he agreed, looking at everything but her. “We’re camping for the night, so we’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. I trust you can ask the elves for dinner and stuff?”

“Yes, sir,” she said automatically. What did he expect her to say, no? Her fingers sought the door as she retreated, itching to shut away the sight of him and go back to sleep. 

His eyes followed her movement and hardened. “Well, if you’re so  _ urgent _ to be rid of me,” he drawled sarcastically. He shook his head. “This is why it’s better you stay home,” he added. “You bring everything down. Can’t even be pleasant to your own father.”

She took a step out of the room, pulling the door slightly shut behind her. “Forgive me for my disrespect, sir,” she bit out, bowing shallowly with her eyes downcast. 

He rolled his eyes. “And then you pull this bowing  _ shit _ .” He spoke slowly through his teeth. He took a step toward her, and his figure loomed above her as her back hit the door. 

She closed her eyes and braced herself for  _ what happens now what’s he going to do why is he acting like this why can’t he leave- _

But as quickly as his anger had roared it dropped and he stepped back with a sigh. “Just go to bed,” he told her, his voice tired. 

Exhaling shakily, she backed into her room, pushing the door behind her. She turned to close it when he spoke again.

“I wish you didn’t always do this,” he was saying, rubbing the back of his neck. “You make it hard to even talk to you. I should be able to talk to my daughter.”

_ Never let them see you cry, _ Lady Bellatrix’s voice reminded her.  _ They don’t affect you if you don’t let them _ .

Why couldn’t she just listen to her?

Gritting her teeth so her jaw wouldn’t shake, she did her best to ignore him and collapsed back onto her sheets, letting Morpheus take her before her tears could. She didn’t need them anyway.

When she woke again a few hours later, she finally let herself cry. Cry for their loss, cry for her life, cry because she was  _ so bloody alone and useless and she couldn’t even get her own parents to care- _

And when she was all cried out, she let herself smile. Smile for her independence, smile for her friends, smile because she could  _ do whatever she wanted no matter what they said and people did care about her and that meant they were- _

Wrong. They were wrong. 

She made Daphne laugh, and she never laughed, so James was wrong when he said she brought everyone down. She fit in just right with Lady Bellatrix and Lord Marvolo and the Malfoys, so Lily was wrong in her whispered comments of  _ weird _ and her muttering about how she stuck out like a sore thumb. She had friends- she had Daphne and Blaise and, to an extent, Draco, so Alex _had_ to be wrong when he said she wouldn’t have friends.

They were all wrong about her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it great? No. But do I kinda like it anyway? Yes. Also it's here and the next chapter takes place the upcoming yule, so we had to have something in between. Let me know what you thought, and see ya tomorrow with the chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time skip to December when Ana is 10. She has a few people left to meet before our story can really begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the promised chapter! I hope you enjoy it :)

Christmas. What a disgrace.

Anastasia looked out upon the party with disgust. Everyone was dressed in red and green and white- what an awful theme- and dancing wildly to Christmas carols. Lily and James were dancing in the middle of the floor, but it wasn’t proper dancing. They stood against each other, swaying and jumping with their hands up in the air. Alex was only a few feet to the side, conversing with a burly man she recognized as the Bulgarian Crown Prince.

At least he looked at Alex with a distaste similar to her own.

As appalled as she was with the celebration of such a holiday, she couldn’t help but wish she was in his place. Not at the party- she had been to an at least one every month to play since Lughnasadh of last year. No, she wanted to speak to the Bulgarian prince. Last month, she had had the opportunity to speak to the man, and she had found him to be one of the most fascinating people yet. Lady Bellatrix had introduced them at Tyrus Shafiq’s ascension party, and Merlin, that was a night she wouldn’t forget. 

She had been asked to play for him by the now-Lord himself at the Carrows’ Samhain party a month or so before.

“You’re good,” the boy had told her bluntly. “Play at my party next month.”

She hadn’t been quite sure how to reply, but she stammered something about how it would be her honor and she’d love to work something out with her schedule. 

“Of course it’s an honor,” he had sniffed. “Not to mention you’ll be paid five hundred galleons. My father will contact Lady Lestrange, and the party will be on the 12th November.”

With that, he had left. 

But regardless of the aloof attitude of the star of the party, it had gone off perfectly. She had received a portkey ring in the mail with Lady Bellatrix’s owl, and her set was well practiced and better performed. 

The whole Manor was decorated in purple and gold, the official colors of House Shafiq. Charms sent dancing beams of purple light onto the sides of the Manor for the guests who preferred to spend the time outside. Even the roses in their garden were violet and yellow.

The ballroom put everyone else’s to shame. It was at least twice the size of the Potters’, and, while the ceilings flew higher than Anastasia could ever imagine being necessary, they shone a glittering gold that kept the whole room light and airy. Candles floated above the scene, the soft, flickering light only adding to the atmosphere.

Even from where she sat at their piano, she could see the appraising looks sent at the decor and the new Lord in all his glory. 

“Darling!” suddenly came Lady Bellatrix’s cry, swaying slightly as she stopped herself on the piano. “You simply must come and meet Aleksi- I just know he’ll love you.”

Anastasia sent a suspicious look at the numerous empty glasses in the Lady’s hands, but conceded. “I just need to finish this set, Milady,” she offered. “Then I can leave a few songs to the rest of the musicians.”

That party was the first she had been at where she was backed by practically an entire orchestra. Every other party had been either just her, or just her and a violinist or friend. But the Shafiqs had hired two violinists, a harpist, a few men who played various brass instruments she couldn’t tell apart, and a cellist. It was rather overwhelming to be surrounded by all the noise, but everyone had said they sounded amazing.

Lady Bellatrix rolled her eyes, but Anastasia could tell it was nothing but theatrics on the other woman’s part. It was only a few minutes later that she finished playing through the dance, after all.

Leaving instructions to the harpist of what songs to play and what to substitute for her, she gathered her skirts and followed her patron to a setee on the opposite side of the hall where a burly man sat sipping champagne.

“Bella!” he exclaimed, a strong accent forcing its way through his words. Russian? she had wondered. “You have returned! And with your little friend!”

Lady Bellatrix smiled and turned back to Anastasia, who had just barely caught up to her. “Darling, this is Crown Prince Aleksi of the Bulgarian Royal House of Baskilov. Highness, my protege remains anonymous, if you will forgive us both.”

It was as though someone had sent a stunner at her. The man before her was the Crown Prince of Bulgaria. She was meeting him. What did one even say to royalty? 

A few seconds late, given, but her etiquette kicked in, and she bowed to the Prince as was proper. “Merry meet, Your Highness,” she murmured. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”

He raised her gloved hand to his mouth and kissed the air above her knuckles, not once breaking eye contact. “The honor is mine.” He gestured vaguely to the crowd around them. “You are the one they all call Nocturne, correct?”

“Yes, Highness.”

“Your playing. On the…” He trailed off, waving his hand and muttering under his breath. “Piano! Yes. Your playing is quite wonderful.”

Once she had gotten over the fact that actual royalty had complimented her, and they had moved on past basic niceties, they had discussed a piece of legislation that the light faction in Bulgaria was trying to pass that would force all werewolves to take the wolfsbane potion each month. 

Anastasia agreed that it should be offered, at least far more than it was, but that it should not be forced on anyone. After all, everything she had studied or heard said that, if changing as part of a proper pack, the transformation was painless, and the person was in full control. The potion, however, would fight the change, therefore making group transformation dangerous. Taking the potion could be beneficial for any werewolves who transformed alone, but even then, the health risks were too drastic for Anastasia to feel comfortable with.

The minister had been very impressed with her views, and their conversation had gone on so long that he followed her back to the piano to keep talking while she played. She was sure the legislation would have advanced by now, and she desperately wanted to hear his opinions.

But that was all just wishful thinking. At this point, she didn’t even know what James and Lily would do if she showed up at one of their parties. She knew Alex would throw a fit.

Instead, she was in her balcony, once again, practicing for the Malfoys’ Yule ball that would be held the next night. It was one of the most prestigious events of the year, far above even the other parties she had played at. Most holiday celebrations had an unofficial rotation of who threw them each year, but the Malfoys had held the Yule ball every year for at least the past two centuries. She was as nervous as she was excited.

She played through a set that she had learned just for this party when a familiar knock came on the door.

“Lady Bellatrix!” she called excitedly. “Come right in.”

The older woman poked her head in the door and flashed Anastasia a grin. “It’s lovely to see you again, dear. Your set sounds lovely, as expected.”

Anastasia blushed and walked over to kiss the woman’s cheek. “Thank you, milady. It’s nice to see you too. Honestly, it’s the only thing that will keep me alive through the Christmas party,” she sneered playfully, rolling her eyes. 

The older woman threw her head back in laughter. “So true, darling. Now, there’s someone I’d like for you to meet. Marvolo?” she called.

The door opened once again to reveal a tall, dark-haired man whose careless elegance could only match Lady Bellatrix’s. “You called, love?”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “Come meet my protegee.”

Marvolo, as Lady Bellatrix had called him, walked into the balcony with a smile. He closed the door, entering the first set of wards that Anastasia had put in place. 

Was it just her, or was the magic in the room getting a bit stifling?

“This is Lord Marvolo of the Most Honored House of Slytherin,” Lady Bellatrix informed her. “And Marvolo, love, this is Heiress Anastasia of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter.”

Under normal circumstances, she would have been shocked by the man’s title.

But with each step he took into the room and toward the piano, the sensation grew stronger and the magic became nearly tangible, and everything around her seemed to blur as she swayed in her seat. She couldn’t quite tell through the double image before her, but she could have sworn something was glowing. The glow emitted some feeling that could only be described as euphoria that overtook every sense she had, filling her eyes and her ears and her skin with the most beautiful feeling, like sugar and clouds and warmth and music and something that she doubted any person could describe.

“Anastasia? Anastasia!” Lady Bellatrix exclaimed, her fear evident in her tone.

“You,” she breathed, looking at Lord Slytherin in amazement. “Who are you?”

And her world went black

_______

“Marvolo,” Bellatrix hissed, leaving the sleeping girl curled up in her cloak. “What the hell is going on?”

“Who is that?” was all he asked.

“Marvolo, I hardly think now’s the time-”

“Who. Is. She.”

“Anastasia Potter,” she answered finally.

Marvolo sank to the ground, his head resting in his hands.

“What?” she questioned him. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, nothing, Trixi, darling,” he replied. “But, you see, seven years and two months ago, give or take-”

“That was the night you attacked the Potters,” Bellatrix filled in, confused.

“Yes. But I did not try to kill Alexander Potter. I tried to kill his sister.”

A pause. Another. Another. Then-

“YOU WHAT?” Bellatrix screeched. “You mean to tell me that the little girl lying in that room is the child that survived the killing curse? That she has been neglected her entire life for not being something THAT SHE ACTUALLY IS?”

“...Yes?”

People liked to claim that the only person the Dark Lord had ever feared was Albus Dumbledore. They were all wrong. Albus Dumbledore was an annoyance, a thorn in his side, a fly buzzing near his ear. A tricky opponent, sure, but not one to fear. Others may claim that he feared Alex Potter. He supposed he did fear the idea of his imminent downfall, but the boy was nothing to fear, even if had been the one to survive.

No, the only person the Dark Lord had ever feared was Bellatrix Black Lestrange. And that was exactly why he was going to marry her.

Bellatrix sighed and slumped to the floor beside her soon-to-be husband. He reached out to touch her arm, but she shoved his hand away.

“Don’t push me, Marvolo. I am very angry with you right now.” She glanced at the little girl in the other room. “I just have other things to worry about. Like why that poor girl passed out when you walked into the room.”

“I have my suspicions…” He trailed off, dropping his head into his hands.

Bellatrix raised an accusing eyebrow. “Marvolo, what did you do?”

He looked up, chewing on his lip. “The level of magic around, the glowing.... I think I accidentally made her a horcrux. It's the only thing I can think of that feels like that.”

Her eyes flew wide before she shut them, squeezing them tight. She took a deep breath, then another, trying desperately to stay calm. 

“Alright,” she said logically. “So part of your soul is in her. That would explain why interacting with you would cause a reaction.”

“But why like that? Were the pieces attempting to reconnect? I don’t know why they would be…”

“I think the real question here is why everyone honors the wrong child?” Bellatrix interrupted. “First off, how the hell could you let that happen and not even check on the one you actually killed? But also…”

“Why would the light let the actual prophecy child be neglected?” Marvolo guessed.

“Well that, but also, how could they not know?” Bellatrix asked. “Her scar reeks of dark magic, nevermind the fact that she actually has a curse scar, unlike her brother. Why would they think it was Alexander in the first place?”

“Because it takes a Gryffindor to beat a Slytherin, and Alex was a perfect Gryffindor if they ever saw one,” came a tired sing-song voice from a lot closer than they realized.

They gaped, both at her response and at her ability to respond at all.

“Your silencing charm doesn’t work, just thought I’d warn you. In case you use that one a lot or anything,” she added, as though that answered all their questions.

“That charm was parselmagic… which, now that I think about it makes a lot of sense,” he sighed.

“What do you mean, love? About Alex?”

“Well, that’s what James said when they were talking with Dumbledore after the attack,” she explained. “He was such a loud child- still is. He was stubborn and rude and cried a lot and loved flying. I was the weird one who barely spoke and never cried and creeped everyone out. Why wouldn’t he be the one to defeat Voldemort?” she finished with a shrug.

Bellatrix and Marvolo didn’t miss the way she used the name.

His lip curled. “Those are all reasons he isn’t the prophecy child.”

“You’re the Dark Lord,” she said without emotion.

He smirked.

“You tried to kill me,” she continued. “You broke into my house and shot the killing curse at me.”

“Will it change anything if I apologize?” he tried. 

The two women in the room sent him identical glares. 

“If it makes you feel any better, you have absolutely nothing to worry about from me. I’m certainly not about to hurt someone who houses part of my soul.”

She just stared at him. “Sorry, houses what?” she burst.

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! What did you think? Sorry to cut this one off a bit abruptly, but otherwise this chapter would have been way too long. 
> 
> I won't be taking my laptop on vacation, so you likely won't get an update until I get back on the 28th, but I'll be writing loads, so the chapters should come quickly after that. There are only gonna be a few more chapters pre-Hogwarts, and then we'll be on to Year One!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the meeting with Mr. Marvolo Slytherin. Enjoy!

Anastasia rarely found herself at a loss for words.

Mostly this was because there weren’t many people she spoke to any great amount, and when she did, it was either someone she was close with or someone to whom she preferred not to say anything at all. 

But it had taken almost an hour for her to regain any sense after learning that the Dark Lord was not only in her rooms, which had her rightfully floored, but had chosen her to be the prophecy child from the beginning. Also that there was a prophecy at all.

That part had perhaps been the most shocking. The information was never made public, and she had never heard James and Lily discussing it, nor Alex bragging about it. She had to wonder if he knew either. Discovering the reason behind the attack that night, discovering the why behind the what, should have been the closure she needed. In reality, it was supremely unsatisfying.

He had acted out of fear that night, and he had acted on the words of some random old woman who saw something that led to an incredibly vague bit of poetry that he only even got his hands on part of. There was no deeper meaning behind the attempted murder- no tragic backstory, no betrayals, no revenge. 

There was a way these things were supposed to go. They always went a certain way; every story went the same way.

When one was introduced to the villain, he would give a speech- dramatic, cackling, looming, sneering- and the heroine would learn the real reasons behind what happened. In a good story, the reader would be forced to look at the villain from an entirely different perspective, and both the reader and the character would have to second guess everything they thought they knew. 

In one of her stories, she would have discovered that he had been under a spell and there was a greater villain behind it all along, or that maybe Lily and James had a secret past they had covered up where they had killed the Dark Lord’s secret daughter, so he came to enact his vengeance, his justice, in her name. 

It could have been anything. It was just supposed to be better.

It was somehow unfulfilling to imagine a man methodically coming to kill the most likely candidate for who an old seer may have called his hypothetical downfall. He was just trying to take care of a threat. It seemed... impersonal, perhaps.

They were still in her balcony, Lord Marvolo having moved to her piano bench across from where she sat numb, curled up on Lady Bellatrix's lap. The velvet edges of the woman’s cloak wrapped her like a swaddled baby, surrounding Anastasia in her essence and her comfort. She focused on the smell of roses and cardamom and cinnamon, a scent so perfectly Lady Bellatrix that it had made her laugh when she found her perfume.

“Lord Slytherin?” she asked, her words muffled by the fabric she spoke into.

“Yes, Heiress?” He figured he could at least be polite. He did, after all, try to murder her one time.

He wondered why she hadn’t lashed out at him. Perhaps her anger simply hadn’t set in yet? Or she hadn’t processed what had happened? He had seen her father- and, Goddess help him, he had seen her mother- in battle; she really should have been trying for his life.

“You still haven’t told me why I “house your soul”, sir.”

He bit his lip. This was going to be the hardest part of the conversation. 

“Why don’t we sit down together and have some tea,” he offered.

“Tea?” she repeated, startled by the sudden change in tone.

“We are British, Miss Potter; when we speak of serious things, we drink tea,” he replied simply, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world at such a time.

“Perhaps we should have put a kettle on before you arrived,” she muttered, drawing a loud laugh from Lady Bellatrix.

Nevertheless, she did as he asked, climbing from Lady Bellatrix’s lap and onto her couch, joined by the older woman, as Lord Slytherin moved to her chair, where he sat back casually. She supposed, for a Dark Lord, any chair in anyone’s house could be a throne if one wished.

A wave of his wand brought sent three lovely cups and saucers onto the little table between them. They were quickly followed by a teapot, which she could only assume by the steam coming out of it, was filled with tea.

“I do hope you like orange clove, Miss Potter; it’s Bella’s favorite,” he told her, pouring a cup and sliding it toward her. 

“That’s fine, it’s fine,” she stammered. The shock of the Dark Lord making her tea had not yet escaped her.

“Do you mind if I run a few diagnostic spells, darling?” Lady Bellatrix asked, already waving her wand at her. “Thank you, love,” she told Lord Slytherin absently as she accepted her tea.

“Oh, go ahead,” Anastasia agreed. It wouldn’t stop her anyway.

“Now,” he announced, once they had all taken their tea how they liked it, “I suppose I have a few answers to offer you.”

She felt Lady Bellatrix’s hand cover her own, a silent show of support, or maybe just of her presence, that Anastasia appreciated greatly.

“How much do remember of the night of your murder- sorry, attempted murder- Miss Potter?”

“Marvolo,” Lady Bellatrix murmured, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Perhaps that’s not the most sensitive place to start.”

“Oh, fine. Have you ever come across the word ‘horcrux’ in your extensive reading, Miss Potter?” he asked, shooting a glance at the floor to ceiling bookshelves.

She shook her head. “It sounds like something awful, though.”

He tilted his head. “I suppose in some ways it is. But a horcrux, Miss Potter, is a vessel for the soul- or, part of the soul. And while part of one’s soul is contained in such an object, that person cannot die. Part of them quite literally lives on in that vessel.”

Her eyes were wider than the saucer her tea splashed onto as her shoulders and jaw dropped at his words. “And I’m one of these… things, for your soul?”

“Yes. I believe on that night, I managed to accidentally transfer some of my soul into yours.”

“But I’m not an object,” she denied, frowning as she combed through his words. “You said you can store your soul in an object, but I’m a living, breathing person. I have my own soul.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “You’re a magical impossibility, Miss Potter, but here you sit.”

“And I… keep you immortal?” she checked.

“Indeed.”

“You say ‘indeed’ a lot,” she blurted, clapping a hand over her mouth as she finished. Had she really just sassed the Dark Lord?

He raised a brow, and she saw a ghost of a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth, and she felt as though she could faint, right then and there. “Indeed I do, Miss Potter.”

A tickling flame of rebellion bubbled through her blood. She was probably the only person who could say she backtalked the Dark Lord and survived.

“How does one make a hor… erm?”

“Horcrux,” he corrected. “Making a horcrux is to splinter one’s soul. For this to happen, the soul must be weakened, softened, enough to break.”

She was no less confused, as fascinating an explanation it may have been.

“Murder, Miss Potter, is the most common way to splinter the soul,” he added, seeing her lost expression.

She began to nod, but paused. “But you didn't kill me. You couldn’t. And you didn’t kill my parents or anything, either.”

He sighed, setting his cup and saucer back on the table. “No, I did not. I didn’t kill anyone that night, as a matter of fact. Another impossibility, I suppose.”

She slumped over and groaned. “My life is set to be full of those, isn’t it?”

A murmured “indeed” came from Lord Slytherin, but conversation lulled as no one could quite figure out what to say.

“A you a healer, milady?” Anastasia asked, directing her attention to Lady Bellatrix, who was still casting charms on her.

“Me?” she exclaimed, her concentration breaking as she threw her head back in laughter. “Oh, good Goddess, no. I could never find the patience for it.” Her eyes glimmered with some dark sort of mirth, and she found the same look in Lord Slytherin’s.

“My darling Bella has always found more pleasure in creating the wounds than healing them,” he elaborated, watching his lover fondly.

“Then why-?”

“Cissy’s got her mastery in healing,” Lady Bellatrix explained, tossing her hair from her face where it had fallen. “Never understood it, but it always did come naturally to her. So I picked some things up here and there, not to mention that everyone ended up knowing a bit of healing, what with… well.”

Right. She had been a soldier- of sorts, at least. Anastasia tended to forget the nature of her history when she watched a dramatic but proper society woman.

The mention of the war had brought the already rather somber mood down drastically, and Anastasia had no idea where one was to go from there. She began fidgeting with the handle of her teacup, inspecting the deep orange drink as if it held some hidden secrets and answers that she never even thought to seek.

“Sir?” she spoke up again. “If I may ask another question…”

He motioned for her to continue. 

“What happens when I die?”

“Hm?”

“Well,” she attempted to explain, “you said having this soul inside of me will keep you immortal. But I’m not immortal. Unless I am. But if I’m not immortal, then what happens when I die and it’s not inside me anymore? Or is it still inside me?” She wrinkled her nose at the thought. “Is that technically possession?”

“Well, actually-”

“Oh, great Goddess, you’re possessing me.”

She couldn’t rip her eyes from the floor in front of her, her breaths coming shorter as the reality of what he had shared finally crashed on her shoulders. 

Wasn’t it enough to simply have been almost murdered as a baby? Wasn’t it enough to simply be the child chosen for some prophecy? Wasn’t it enough to simply be deserving of the recognition her brother had received for years? Was it really, really, not enough to simply have the Dark Lord sitting in her balcony telling her all of this over tea?

Was that not enough? Did she just absolutely have to be possessed by him as well?

Marvolo rubbed at his forehead, his head having dropped into his hand in resigned exhaustion. “There it is,” he sighed.

Bellatrix shot a look at her fiance that shut him up on the spot. Damn, did that woman have hellfire behind her eyes when she wanted to. She wrapped an arm around the little girl, using her free hand to take her tea from her and set it on the table before the poor thing spilled it all over her lap. 

She felt her small form shake almost violently, and she wasn’t sure if she was about to cry or laugh or hyperventilate, or all three at once.

“Anastasia?” she murmured. “Are you, erm- are you in there?”

She heard Marvolo muffle a laugh from across the room.

“Sorry, I’m not exactly the expert on small children,” she hissed. “Would you like to try to calm her down? Oh right, I forgot, you’re the reason she’s like this in the first place.” 

“They can’t be that difficult,” Marvolo denied, his tone almost betraying the frantic and alarmed feeling within him. “Right?” He wondered briefly if he felt such a way because she held his soul, and he therefore cared as he would with any as important possession, or if their connection actually made him feel such, like a warning bell for his soul being in danger.

Bella turned back to Anastasia, brushing her hair from her eyes as tears began to pool within them. “Oh, why couldn’t Cissy be doing this,” she sighed. “She always knows what to do with children.”

She rearranged them so that Anastasia was back in her lap, and she immediately latched onto the woman’s lapels, burying her head in her chest. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly. What did a terrified child want to hear? Was it the same things as an injured soldier? Was there that much of a difference? “It’s going to be alright, do you hear that? I’m right here, right here.”

Anastasia heard the soothing voice crooning in her ear and tried to spare all her focus on that. Just her voice, nothing else. There was no one to worry about, nothing to worry about. Nothing in that room to be scared of. The balcony was safe- it had to be. It had been the one truly safe place in the house for as long as she could remember, and even as almost laughably awful circumstances as those ones couldn’t take that away. 

“I’m sorry for crying all over you, milady,” she sniffled, trying to wipe her tears with her already wet hands.

“Oh, darling, it’s alright,” Lady Bellatrix assured her, hiding a slight grimace. “Here.” She pulled a handkerchief from a pocket in her robes and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “All better now, see?”

Anastasia nodded, slipping off her lap and grabbing her tea to take another sip. “Forgive me, Lord Slytherin, I didn’t mean to drive myself to hysteria before you,” she added politely, realizing belatedly the embarrassment of the scene she had caused.

He choked out a laugh. “Entirely understandable.”

“It’s only,” she continued, “I can’t really help but find myself quite startled by the news that you are, in fact, possessing me.”

“If it is any comfort, Miss Potter, the situation is a bit more similar to you possessing yourself.”

She just stared.

“That’s supposed to be comforting?” she finally exclaimed. “What does that even bloody mean?” She cut off her own rant and closed her eyes, counting her breaths in an attempt to calm herself. “Forgive me, my language was uncalled for.”

Lady Bellatrix sniffed in false offence. “I’d say it was entirely called for in the situation, darling.” She reached to pinch Anastasia’s cheek. “In fact, it’s quite nice to see you have a little bite in you, don’t you think, Marvolo? Always so prim, you are.”

Anastasia shook the older woman off, squirming under her inspecting gaze, but she couldn’t help but grin. “Alright, alright, milady.” She turned to Lord Slytherin, fighting the pink tinge in her cheeks. “Well then, if you wouldn’t mind terribly, sir, I’d really like to know what the bloody hell you mean,” she rephrased, as prim as she could possibly be.

She could honestly say- and it would likely be the only time she would be able to- that Lady Bellatrix would have spat her tea everywhere if not for the hand clamped over her mouth. Lord Slytherin didn’t seem to be doing much better.

“Well,” he began quite slowly, once his laughter had mellowed, “you had barely lived two years when the part of my soul joined your own. The great majority of your life, your memories, and the development of your sense of self has been with the horcrux within you. It’s easily argued that you are not in fact the original soul in your body, but that the person that is ‘you’ is actual the result of the merged souls. And because not all of ‘your’ soul is your original one, you are thus partially possessing yourself.”

She paused, searching for any good response to that. There wasn’t one. 

“Oh.”

Lord Slytherin scratched at his neck, not meeting her eyes as he scanned the room absently. “Oh, indeed.”

She really needed another cup of tea. 

Luckily, Lady Bellatrix seemed to feel the same way, reaching for the pot with a tired smile and pouring a fresh cup for the both of them. She savoured the sweet taste and the opportunity for a comfortable silence on her own part.

“As for your earlier question,” Lord Slytherin added, remembering the events before her scene which she herself had forgotten, “I have absolutely no clue what happens when or if you die. I don’t know if our fates are affected by the circumstances of such an occurrence, I don’t know if my soul can be contained in a corpse.” Here, Lady Bellatrix winced visibly. “Erm, if it can remain after your passing,” he amended, and here his eyes grew dark. “But I will be doing everything within my power to keep such things from happening.”

Was it supposed to be so reassuring that the Dark Lord himself was watching out for her?

She didn’t even want to consider what it would mean for him to ‘keep such things from happening’. She didn’t want to think of what he could- and likely would- do to someone who did in fact kill her, and with her, his soul. She didn’t even want to think of what he could do to someone who tried. 

She certainly didn’t want to consider why the thought of his protection, and his vengeance, comforted her the way it did.

They had little to speak of after that, as it was getting quite late, and they had rather exhausted their stores of questions and answers and startling discoveries for the night. While Lord Marvolo- as he had given her permission to call him such- banished the tea set, Lady Bellatrix gave her the gift she had chosen for Yule.

“It’s not much,” Lady Bellatrix assured her, as Anastasia began to worry about her own lack of gift. “It’s three parts useful to one part luxury.” She pulled from a pocket in her robes a small box and opened the lid to reveal a gorgeous gold chain with the most gorgeous pendant Anastasia had ever seen. It was a round glass figure, reminiscent of a compass or a pocketwatch, and inside it sat the tiniest pressed red roses she had ever seen, and a Dagaz rune was carved into the glass. “Here,” she offered, clasping it around her neck with practiced ease.

“Thank you,” Anastasia gushed. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she replied. “It’s also a portkey to the manor, to be used whenever you want. The activation word is ara.”

She thought through her studies of Latin, studies which she had been slacking on something awful as of recently. “Altar?” she guessed, though that didn’t answer much.

Lady Bellatrix shook her head, but she smiled, her eyes glittering. “Sanctuary.”

Sanctuary. Throwing propriety to the wind, and herself at Lady Bellatrix, she wrapped the older woman in the tightest hug she could, likely sucking all the wind out of her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Now, you use that whenever you want or need, understand?” she murmured into the little girl’s hair. “Even if you just wish to get away or traipse the grounds for an afternoon. Our home is yours, darling, whenever you wish.”

“Thank you,” Anastasia breathed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

They held each other for another long moment, and when they were finally detached, Lady Bellatrix got a rather serious look on her face. “This necklace also opens, a bit like a locket. No-” she ordered, cutting off Anastasia’s attempts to open it. “It is not, in fact, a locket, darling. Inside is one dose of a very deadly Mundane poison called ricin. It’s spelled to never open accidentally, or by anyone but you or me, but that won’t be much use if you pour it out now.” Her solemn mask slipped to reveal her usual devilish glint. “Use it well, darling.”

Because of course, Lady Bellatrix would never just give her a gorgeous piece of jewelry, or a portkey.

“I will, milady,” she vowed.

“I have no doubts. Now, I suppose it really is time to be off-”

“Pandora,” she interrupted, squeezing her eyes shut.

“What was that, darling?”

“My name. Anastasia Artemisia Pandora Potter,” she repeated. 

Lady Bellatrix’s eyes widened almost comically. Pulling the girl in for another hug, she pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I am honored by your trust, darling.”

“As I am honored by yours.”

“Happy Yule, Anastasia. I do hope to see you around soon.”

And with that, Lady Bellatrix and Lord Marvolo touched their fingers to a portkey bracelet on Lady Bellatrix’s wrist and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I kept my promise of writing lots and lots on vacation- I wrote about 20k words. However! Instead of being a smart person and writing this chapter, I wrote a few thousand words for this fic that won't come into play for about three years in the book, and I started another WIP. Aren't I an absolute genius? 
> 
> In reality, this scene simply wouldn't move and it took until today to get it un-stuck. I hope you enjoyed it, and please tell me what you thought! Do you think the characters were realistic? Is there any interaction that had you laughing or excited, or any part that had you skimming? (Do you think Marvolo is gonna get to kill someone for trying to hurt Anastasia?)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few more important snapshots of Anastasia and Marvolo.

“Miss Potter,” came an amused voice, startling her. “You seem to be rather deep in thought for such an early hour.”

“Lord Marvolo,” she greeted, nodding politely.

“It’s good to see you’re taking advantage of Bella’s portkey." 

“You enjoy the company, milord?” she teased. She would never stop getting that little rush from teasing the Dark Lord and coming out unscathed.

“I can name the people who know of my current existence on one hand,” he deadpanned. “I would be lying if I were to claim I do not appreciate the presence of a lovely young witch like yourself.”

“That’s reasonable." Or she supposed it was, at least, her cheeks pink from his flattery, as she watched the man before her. One would never guess that he was the Magical world’s most feared wizard.

“What thought captures your fancy this morning, Miss Potter?” he asked, dodging her strange gaze and joining her by the railing of the veranda. 

Her eyes remained locked on the sun hinting through the trees at the edge of the property, streaking the sky with yellow and pink. Ignoring his question, she slipped her legs over the railing so she was dangling off the very edge of the porch.

Her feet swung idly beneath her as she adjusted her green satin dressing robe to keep her warm and covered on the brisk March morning. “What’s it like to not have a whole soul?” she asked impulsively, leaning to rest her chin on her hand.

“What is it like to have more than a whole soul, my dear?” he sent back, his tone only softly curious.

She thought hard for a few moments. “I don’t quite suppose it’s anything at all,” she confessed. “Though I really don’t remember a time when I had a normal soul, where I’m sure you remember what it’s like to have a whole one.”

“I remember it perfectly,” he agreed. “I remember the whole journey, every piece I’ve given up has changed something.”

She swivelled around to face him. “Just how many horcruxes do you have?” she asked, aghast.

“Seven,” he replied, the syllables sure and precise. “Or, six, I suppose, creating seven total homes for my soul.”

“But- but that would leave you with only- only- one and a half percent of a soul!” she cried, calculating the split in her head. “How are you even alive?”

His gaze hardened, and she was struck with the urge to back away, even though that would lead her right off the edge. “Where are you getting those numbers, Miss Potter?”

“I found a book in the back of the library,” she explained. “It mentioned horcruxes for a page or so, and it said that a horcrux splits your soul right down the middle.”

“Ah,” he sighed, relieved. “Well, books, my dear, are often quite mistaken about things when there is little observable evidence. I believe I am the only wizard in history to have made as many horcruxes as I have, and the overwhelming majority of mages who choose to take such a measure would only ever make one. It’s disappointing, but not surprising, that your book is incorrect in this.”

“Then how much of a soul do you have left?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted. “I haven’t done anything to measure since before I made you, but at that time, I had 70.82 percent of my soul intact.”

“Wh-”

“I told you those months ago that one has to weaken their soul to the point of splintering it in order to create a horcrux,” he continued, cutting her off. “The most common act to weaken the soul is murder, though some mages in the past have used other means. One wizard is remembered for his four gruesome deaths, as he used- well, that’s not relevant. But as I have always preferred murder as my chosen route, we can simply discuss that. Do you imagine all murders to be equal, Miss Potter? Equally meaningful, equally substantial, equally soul-splinteringly evil?”

Her jaw hung open as she tried to consider his words with a clear head. “I would like to say yes, that all murder is equally evil, but it’s about the meaningfulness to the murderer, isn’t it?”

He seemed pleased at her deduction. “Indeed.”

“Then, to a murderer,” she continued slowly, “all murder would not be equal. The murderer has likely murdered before, so they likely wouldn’t care too greatly about another unless there were unusual circumstances.”

“Correct,” he praised. “In addition to that, the victim would change the meaningfulness. For example, for my first horcrux, I used the accidental and indirect murder of one of my classmates. I must confess, I barely cared at all. However, it was my first murder, and my first horcrux, and that gave it some meaning. But, in the end, it took only about six percent of my soul with it.”

Her eyes widened, but she calmed as she reminded herself who she was speaking to. She really couldn’t be surprised that Lord Voldemort had killed during his school years. The stranger thought was Lord Voldemort in his school years at all.

“My second horcrux was made from the murders of my father, grandfather, and uncle,” he listed, as casually as if he had been speaking of the weather. “These were, of course, a good bit more meaningful than the first, taking thirteen percent of my soul. Then came a crime of passion type murder of a rather awful old woman. Took only four percent, as I had committed several other murders between. Then came only two percent of my soul with the murder of some random muggle. The last was about five percent of soul when I killed a peasant in Albania. The victim meant nothing to me, but I was extremely angry at the time and I was making a great change in my plans.”

“I can’t believe you,” she sighed. “You just- you talk about all this so matter-of-factly, as though this is something anyone else in the world would understand. And yet the way you talk about it, you _could_ make anyone in the world understand.”

“I was blessed with a pleasant voice and a charming disposition,” he said smugly, a teasing lilt to his tone but not a hint of sarcasm. “But, as you see, the amount of soul splintered off when creating a horcrux can vary greatly. Though,” he added, upon second thought, “I suppose, the author of your book was likely quite accurate in his analysis that it splits the soul down the middle. For most, it would be the only horcrux they would ever even attempt to make, so it would automatically be far more significant, not to mention that they would choose someone meaningful to murder. I already planned on making six, so my first murder meant very little.”

She nodded. “You’re very good at explaining things,” she told him. “You would make a professor or the like, if you weren’t so busy with your… Dark Lord… thing,” she finished awkwardly.

He laughed at that. “As a matter of fact, I had every intention of becoming a professor at Hogwarts. Dumbledore claimed it was all for access, of course, and denied me the job, but I really do enjoy teaching- when I have an intelligent and attentive pupil, that is.”

Anastasia blushed at the indirect praise. “What would you have taught, milord?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he answered as though announcing it, drawing a giggle from her lips. “Ah, yes, the irony doesn’t escape me. So I had to move on to plan B.”

“Becoming a Dark Lord was your plan B?” she asked, bewildered.

“I would have become a Dark Lord regardless, child. Going about it as I did was my plan B,” he snapped.

She recoiled at his sudden shift in tone. “Sorry,” she tried, the word coming out as a question.

He glared at her a moment longer before it dropped. “No, no,” he dismissed. “I should not have lost my composure.”

It was strange whenever Lord Marvolo did that. His emotions would just come and go; sudden anger, sudden comfort. The swings were disconcerting in a sense. As soon as she would forget who really was, she would suddenly be reminded, then feel guilty for imagining he could be anything but the kind, if sharp, man before her. It all gave her a bit of a headache.

“That would be the result of a splintered soul, my dear,” he replied to her unspoken comments.

“Pardon?”

“Rather drastic mood swings, rather confusingly paired with a fog of apathy,” he explained. “Not the best of the side effects.”

“Did each horcrux make it worse, then?” she asked, remembering his earlier comments. “You said you remembered the time after each horcrux was made, so it must have changed something.”

“Indeed it did, Miss Potter,” he affirmed, the same pleased tone as before seeping through as she showed her interest. “It got significantly worse after I made you, which is why I can only assume you took a rather sizeable chunk of my soul.”

“Me?” she repeated. “My- my murder. You think it was really that significant?”

He turned his gaze to meet hers, a curious yet satisfied stare, like one of someone who had found something incredibly lucky but had no clue what do with it, or perhaps one who found something exceedingly useful that they still wished to study.

“My dear Miss Potter,” he murmured, looking back towards the sky. The sun had risen, the colors painted across the sky gone to make way for pale blue. “My Downfall, my Chosen One.” He shook his head fondly. “Oh, my dear, I can say without a doubt that yours was the most significant murder I’ll ever commit.”

_______

  
  


It was during another of their early morning conversations about a month later- it was only ever the two of them, as Lady Bellatrix preferred to rise long after the sun- that she finally asked the question that had been bothering her since they had met.

“Why are you willing to tell me all of this, milord? About your horcruxes, your immortality, your past? Don’t you worry that I could take it all and run to Dumbledore, or my parents, or any other number of people?”

“Could you?” he asked, in that casual but piercing way he always would. “An honest question, could you really?”

“I- yes, I believe I could,” she stammered.

His eyebrows raised slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was cold. “Miss Potter, even if you were ready and willing to admit to your little evening escapades over the past few years, and chance Azkaban by disclosing your interactions with me, do you really think anyone would believe you? That you were the Chosen One, that you believed your brother to have taken your place?”

She swallowed thickly, unsure how to properly back away from someone when she sat on a railing.

He laughed then, but it wasn’t the warm chuckle or the sardonic huff that she was accustomed to. He continued speaking in a voice so quiet she wouldn’t have been able to make out the words had she been breathing, a voice filled with detached amusement and something so dark and intrusive that she couldn’t even name it.

It wasn’t Lord Marvolo’s voice at all, she realized, catching sight of the glimmer in his ruby eyes. That was the Dark Lord- that was Lord Voldemort, and no one else. 

“And even if,” he hissed, “after you finished your ridiculous story, they did believe even a word of it, you would really admit to the leader of the Light and his little lapdogs that part of you is, in fact, me? You would tell Dumbledore and James Potter that part of you is Lord Voldemort himself?” He let out a breath of disgust. “You would be lucky to be thrown to the streets of Muggle London, Miss Potter,” he spat.

The Dark Lord took another step towards her, and his face was so close to hers that she could feel the hotness of his breath on her cheek like a strike. “So, no, my dear, I don’t worry about it at all. I don’t believe you’re going to be telling anyone anything anytime soon.”

Would she ever remember how to breathe again? It seemed less likely every second.

Just as she was considering if falling off the railing would be more fun than enduring his gaze, he cleared his throat and stepped back, his eyes melting back to their usually soft garnet hue.

“There’s something we should do,” he announced. “Follow me, if you will.”

He led her through the familiar winding corridors until they reached a rather solid looking stone wall.

“Milord? What are we doing here?”

“You shall see momentarily, if you will gather whatever patience your parents passed on to you,” he responded distractedly, waving his wand at the wall in a complex pattern.

When he had finally cast the right sequence, or whatever he was doing, the wall shimmered momentarily and melted away, leaving a doorway like any other in its place.

She followed him through that as well, but even as she scanned the unfamiliar room, none of her questions had been answered. “Milord?”

“This is a duelling chamber,” he announced, sweeping right past her to the center of the room. It made sense, she supposed. 

In the center of the room, a circular space was marked off and surrounded in wards so strong she could see the glow. Swords hung on the wall to her left, and shields to her right. Smaller, or at least less strongly warded dueling circles were in the back two corners, and immediately around her were benches- for watching a duel, she presumed.

“What are we doing in the dueling chamber, milord?”

He sent her a look. “Why, we’re going to duel, of course.”

She let out a small noise of indignation. “I don’t even have a wand, and you’re a Dark Lord. How is this a fair duel?”

He stared at her innocently. “Well, it worked out for you last time, didn’t it?”

Her jaw dropped at his joke, a joke at his own expense, mind you, and her eyes glittered with excitement. “Oh you are _on_.”

She really hadn’t meant it quite so literally, but as soon as the words left her mouth, curses started flowing from his. The colorful spells shot around her as she did her best to dodge, but a few of the jinxes hit their mark, making her trip, turning her feet into duck’s feet, and finally making her tap dance in place (the duck’s feet had not yet gone away).

As he released the spells, he looked over appraisingly. “I’m very impressed.”

“At my tap dancing skills?” she asked, giving him a grin from where she sat cross legged on the floor.

He just rolled his eyes. “At your ability to dodge. Many far older than you would have done far, far worse.”

“Well, perhaps if I had a wand,” she griped. 

“Would a wand assist you to dodge, Miss Potter?” he asked sharply.

“No?”

“No, it would not. A wand would allow you to shield yourself, defend yourself, attack your partner. But none of that will matter the moment you are disarmed and have no idea how to dodge a simple curse.” He offered her a hand. “Get up, Miss Potter. We’ll be trying this again.”

And try again they did. It felt as though it went on for hours, and perhaps it did; the monotony had pulled her into a sort of lull as her body began to slip into autopilot. She dodged spell after spell, and spell after spell hit her anyways, but she saw as they went that she lasted longer each time, dodging more spells, being hit by less, taking more before considering herself incapacitated. 

“I believe that will be all for this morning, my dear,” he said finally, and his announcement came as welcome as a galleon to a niffler.

“You plan to train me, milord?” she asked. To say they were done that morning implied that there would be another morning of that, which they had not yet completed.

“Of course,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I won’t have my soul going back to Hogwarts unprepared. I got twelve O’s on my OWLs and NEWTs in my time; I don’t know why I would accept less fifty years later.”

“Of course, milord.”

“We can meet every Tuesday and Thursday about the same time as today,” he decided. “That should leave you prepared when Hogwarts starts up in September; we have quite a few months until then.” He sighed. “I really should have been training you like this the past few months as well, ever since we met, honestly.”

“It’s likely for the best that you didn’t attempt to throw curses on me when I didn’t trust you in the least, milord,” she said lightly, but the sentiment was honest. 

He couldn’t do much but agree with that. Five months of lessons would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ykno when you just. Randomly spit out three thousand words without stopping? Well, now I do, so here you go- twice in one night. I didn't really mean to write these and now I have a few more things that I'll need to weave into the plot somehow, but these two simply would not shut up!! Their dynamic is soooo fun to write, what with Marvolo's simultaneous possessiveness of his horcrux, protectiveness of his totally-not-daughter, and general i-tried-to-kill-you-awkwardness, and Ana's sassy nature popping out right next to her good manners. Ugh, I love them and it's not fair.
> 
> Well, tell me what you thought!! And what would you like to see next chapter?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited returns!
> 
> (By which I mean me. obviously. 
> 
> .......unless?)

By the time July came around, the Potter family had become entirely insufferable.

July brought the twins’ eleventh birthdays, and eleventh birthdays in magical Britain brought Hogwarts letters. Every morning, Alex was up at the crack of dawn, still in his nightclothes with his hair and teeth unbrushed, dashing around the house and the grounds checking for an owl.

Anastasia was surprised that he would even be receiving a letter in the mail. It seemed more reasonable to her that one of the teachers or, hell, Headmaster Dumbledore himself, would come to the Potter residence to present proof of school acceptance to the Boy-Who-Lived himself. But, she supposed, she had to acknowledge the appreciation for tradition, even about something as small as a letter. 

It was still two weeks until their birthday, but as the clock struck five, Anastasia was pulled from her sleep with the sound of screaming and the pounding of feet coming from down the hall. She rubbed at her eyes, already missing the warm embrace of sleep. Slipping on her fur slippers and wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she threw herself out of bed, using the momentum to reach the door.

Throwing it open only a hair’s breadth from violently, she took a deep breath. “Alexander James Potter,” she shouted, her voice still scratchy. She reached out to grab his arm as he was passing her. “It is five in the morning and you are still ten years old! Go back to bed and let the rest of us get some sleep for once this month!”

He shoved out of her grip and rounded on her, glaring. “For your information,” he huffed, “I wasn’t looking for a letter, I was going to go say hi to Uncle Padfoot.”

She perked up. “Uncle Siri’s here?”

“Yes,” he repeated, rolling his eyes. “Now, aren’t you going to apologize?”

It was only experience that kept her from rolling her eyes right back. “You were still crashing down the hall screaming bloody murder at five in the morning, Al.”

“Do I need to tell Dad you’re being rude again?”

She sucked in a short breath. “I’m sorry for getting upset, Alex. It won’t happen again,” she ground out in a mumble, eyes closed and head down.

His chest puffed up in a way he probably thought made him look extremely macho. “See that it doesn’t,” he said imperiously, knocking her backwards with his shoulder on his way past, speeding up to a run as he made his way down the stairs.

He made her want to scream, to finally let him have a piece of her mind, and just let the anger and frustration course though her veins until they consumed her body in a heat of hate and hurt and she was reduced to a pile of ash, and the only reason she didn’t test it was because she couldn’t stand the thought of that ash beneath his feet.

Anyway, she reminded herself, Uncle Siri was back.

She dashed back into her room to get dressed, replacing her green satin nightset with a simple lavender dress with white buttons down the bodice. She left on her slippers, figuring she would still be far better dressed than the rest of them, who preferred to come down in silly patterned pajamas from the Mundane world rather than anything nice. She brushed her hair, which she noticed was getting quite long as she got older, into a high ponytail atop her head, tied with a white ribbon, and wrestled her bangs down flat. 

Deciding she looked put-together enough for the day, she put up a charm Lord Marvolo had taught her to keep people away from her door, and made her way downstairs as fast as she could without resembling Alex.

She could barely remember the last time she had seen Uncle Siri in more than passing. He was an Auror like James, which was time-consuming as it was, she knew, but he always seemed to be away whenever she got up the courage to ask, whether it be on business, pleasure, or something rather secretive that James and Lily refused to explain. When he did visit, she was thrilled to see him, of course, but most of his time was spent talking with James, and most of James’s time was spent talking about Alex, and she felt so out of place around the group that she usually preferred to avoid them. And that wasn’t even accounting for the outings they would take that some excuse was made so that she wasn’t invited- “Ana’s grounded right now”, “The reporters are a bit much to handle in that area, and you know how Ana is with crowds”- et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, and after long enough, she stopped trying. 

But he was always so kind, wrapping her up in his warm bear hugs that always left his cologne on her clothes, an older one that smelled like jasmine and some sort of fruit and something musky and comforting. He would flick her hair and tell her how happy he was to see her and bring her little presents that she never showed anybody else, and no matter how long she went without seeing him, she would always look forward to his visits. 

Checking the parlor only showed signs of an empty and mostly unused room, so she continued past it to the foyer, hoping to catch him before the family retreated to the kitchens and she would feel more like she was intruding. 

Fortunately, he appeared to have only arrived a few minutes before, as he was still wearing his jacket and carried his bag as they stood around the bannister of the staircase, Alex balancing on the railing.

“Uncle Siri!” she greeted when she had almost reached them, a grin taking over her face. She could feel herself relaxing like a weight coming off her chest when he smiled back.

“Pandora!” he exclaimed, using his name for her, the one no one else ever called her. Lily had explained once that he had chosen her name, and that one specifically was a traditional Black name, which fell in line with what she had read of the prominent family, and she found it endlessly sweet that he still used it. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, sweetheart,” he whispered, pulling her in for a tight hug. “Feels like it’s been years.”

“It has,” she had to point out.

He winced. “That’s true. I should visit more, but you know how busy I get.”

She nodded. “No, no, of course,” she assured him. “I’m grateful for the time you have to spare- don’t push yourself to give more than you have to offer.”

He smiled fondly, flicking her ponytail to the side. “Thanks for the advice, o wise one,” he teased.

“How long are you staying for?” she asked. “I know Uncle Remus is here for a few more nights.”

“Yeah, I’ll be staying through the moon,” he confirmed. “But I gotta leave Friday for a mission in France.”

Her face fell. 

“Aw, come-on sweetheart,” he added, tugging her ponytail again. “I’ll be back the next Saturday when your Hogwarts letters come, alright? I know life is simply  _ miserable _ without my charming presence, but I’m sure you can survive a week.”

She had to smile at his constantly teasing manner. “Yeah, I suppose I-”   


“Uncle Padfoot!” Alex suddenly called from where he had moved to stand beside James. “Come ‘ere!”

“In a moment, kiddo,” Uncle Siri laughed. “Hold your horses for a sec.”

Alex’s face flopped into a familiar pout, one that made Anastasia practically burn with indignation. It was the face he used every time he wanted something, and it  _ always _ worked. Every time, on everyone. It was the face that threatened tears and anger, and the face that disappeared within milliseconds of getting his way.

Uncle Siri rolled his eyes, but his crooked grin hadn’t left. “Alright, alright, I’m coming.” He shot a final grin at Anastasia and crossed to where the other Potter child stood, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Dad says we have an extra ticket for the Bats versus Puddlemere game later- you’ll come won’t you?”

“How’d you get an extra ticket, Prongs?” Uncle Siri asked. “I know I dropped in a bit by surprise.”

“Got ‘em free,” James bragged. “Four tickets from the minister himself. Remus didn’t want to go, you know the moon’s tonight and all.”

“And you just happened to buy an extra one?” he asked again, looking a bit bewildered. His face split into his trademarked charming smile. “Had you planned to ask me all along? Is this like when you brought Lils to that concert back in seventh year because you just  _ happened _ to have an extra ticket?” He gasped, as though suddenly realizing something. “James Potter, are you asking me on a date?” He dropped to one knee and began to blink rapidly in a way that only made him look silly, clasping his hands beneath one cheek. 

“Alright, Pads,” Lily cut in, pushing the man’s shoulder playfully and pointedly ignoring his theatrical gasp as he collapsed to the floor as though she had shoved him quite hard. “Give it up- he’s already my husband.” Her eyes glittered. “And you,” she added, turning on said husband and poking a finger in his chest, “never told me you were lying about the extra ticket.”

“I wasn’t, I wasn’t!” he cried, falling to one knee. “Mercy, fair maiden, have mercy!” 

Lily watched him with a smile as he grabbed her hand and kissed it, shooting her a winning smile. “Oh, alright, get up,” she conceded. “But only ‘cause you’re so sweet.”

They really were a rather cute couple, Anastasia mused, a pang of envy bubbling beneath her skin. They loved each other very much, and that had never wavered, no matter how many faults they shared. She could see why people would always talk about how wonderful and romantic their hero’s parents were towards each other, a social icon of what a couple could be after living through a war together; it was a very easy misconception that everything was perfectly perfect and nothing more in the Potter household. 

Lily’s main issue after everything was her attachment to the fame Alex brought to the family. Every moment was spent hyperfocused on her image, and the family’s appearance, and making sure nothing derogatory was spouted about them. It worked out well that she had married a man so focused on himself.

But for all the issues she had with James Potter, she could say one thing: he never swayed from what he valued. He was above all else is righteous- though often that just meant self-righteous in his case. He never backed down, even when it was foolish. He faced Voldemort head on because he valued his family. She knew he considered family to be extremely important- he just didn’t consider Anastasia a part of it.

Uncle Sirius had gotten up sometime in all the chaos that was the Potter family in a room at the same time, and turned his attention back to Alex. “If you have an extra ticket, you can’t stop me from coming. You know I love the Bats.”

“Of course,” James agreed. “We usually bring one of Alex’s friends with the fourth when we get free ones anyway- the Minister is used to our friends joining us up in the box.”

“Four?” Sirius repeated. “I don’t…?”

Twin glares sent her way had Anastasia clearing her throat to pull his attention. “I don’t generally attend,” she clarified, pasting a pleasant smile on her face. “Quidditch and reporters hold little interest for me.”

“You don’t have to talk like my mother, you know,” James complained, and Anastasia could recognize the dark tone in a way that only came with years of practice. “You can just talk like a normal person.”

“Forgive me, Father,” she apologized politely, bobbing a curtsey in a tiny show of personal defiance.  _ Go ahead _ , she was taunting him.  _ Let’s see what you do with Uncle Siri here. _

As she expected, he did nothing but glare when Uncle Siri wasn’t looking. It wouldn’t do to make him doubt her excuse for not attending the quidditch game.

They moved to the kitchen after Anastasia called an elf to take Uncle Siri’s things, and they shared an early breakfast before the rest of them would head out for the stadium. 

It was nice having Uncle Siri around, even if James and Alex hoarded his attention all through the meal. She let herself tune them out a bit, listening to the conversation as it went on and eating her omelette, but even that got tiring as conversation turned to quidditch games she hadn’t attended and people she couldn’t admit she had met. She excused herself as soon as she could, retreating to the balcony with only Uncle Siri taking notice of her absence. 

She didn’t particularly like quidditch, mostly because she knew nothing about it. She had read a book on it once, so she understood the basic rules, but she had never flown a broom, she didn’t understand the stunts, she hadn’t kept up with the teams or the players or anything else. But she assumed it would be great fun, even for someone who wasn’t much of a fan, to attend a match with all their family, mimicking their cheers and sharing treats. 

She wondered briefly if Lady Bellatrix and Lord Marvolo ever attended quidditch matches. A giggle snuck out. Imagine, the Dark Lord watching quidditch. What a ridiculous thought.

She actually didn’t know if he enjoyed quidditch or not, nor had she asked Lady Bellatrix. But neither had ever mentioned it in the time she’d known them, and most quidditch fans she knew could never go multiple years without speaking of it once. Besides, she figured, Lord Marvolo hadn't technically entered society yet, and it wouldn’t do for Lady Bellatrix to be seen with a man who didn’t exist, not with the suspicions already surrounding her.

She spent the time until the rest of the family left, which was only about two hours, getting dressed and practicing her piano. She wanted to go to Lestrange Manor, but she knew that Lord Marvolo would want to have another training session at some point that day. 

She sighed, pulling on the snug brown leather pants and boots, followed by a cream colored top and faded green vest. Had she been really dueling, the robes required would be far more extravagant, but she absolutely refused to traipse around in full dueling attire in the oppressive July heat.

Gripping her pendant, she was transported to Lestrange Manor, right in the foyer. 

“Odette!” she called. 

“Miss Ana,” the little elf exclaimed, popping into the foyer with her. “It’s so good to see you! I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

She leaned down to hug the elf, smiling at her excitement. “I’ve been over,” she explained, “but Lady Bellatrix and Lord Marvolo usually meet me when I arrive.”

The elf nodded. “Missus and Mister Marvolo are in the dining room having their breakfast right now,” she told Anastasia, answering the implied question. “Can I take  you to them?” 

“Yes, please, Odette.”

The elf popped the girl to the entrance to the dining room, not bothering to alert the couple of her presence. They had grown quite accustomed to the girl coming and going from the manor as she pleased.

Bellatrix, at least, took a great deal of pride in how comfortable Anastasia had become around her, and her growing confidence could easily be credited to the older woman.

“Merry meet, milady, milord,” Anastasia greeted, curtsying. 

“Darling!” Bellatrix cried, waving her to the seat beside her. “How wonderful for you to come and visit- we were just speaking of you!”

Anastasia frowned in apprehension. “You were?”

Lord Marvolo cut in, sending her a polite smile. “We had simply been speaking of your going off to Hogwarts in September,” he clarified. “Nothing bad in the least.”

It was easy to forget, sometimes, the past that the man before her had. Balancing the man she knew with the Dark Lord was hard enough, but even before that she had to balance the story of a young boy in a decrepit Mundane orphanage during the bombings, bullied by the other children and the Sisters who ran it. She had ended one of the wars in his life, but he already had wars in his past before he had become a Dark Lord: Mundane, Magical, and personal. It was a wonder he had made it out at all.

But she was reminded sometimes of his past, when he seemed to truly understand exactly how she felt, exactly how she thought, in a way even Lady Bellatrix couldn’t. She would never claim the man understood other people’s emotions, but he understood his own, and that worked well enough for her.

She had already eaten, so she turned down everything but one of Odette’s cherry pastries, a treat she would never be able to refuse. Breakfast with Lady Bellatrix and Lord Marvolo was far different than breakfast with her family, but it was a welcome change if anything was. 

“What brings you over this morning, darling?” Lady Bellatrix asked.

“The rest of the family and Uncle Sirius are at a quidditch match this afternoon,” she explained. “I was encouraged to decline the offer and remain at home, but I had little interest in sitting alone all day. And I missed our last training session,” she added, directed at Lord Marvolo. “I do apologize for that, the circumstances were entirely unexpected.”

“I will not go easy on you simply because you are out of practice,” he warned, a teasing glint in his eye.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, milord,” she replied sweetly. “Besides, who’s to say I’m out of practice?”

“Oh?” 

The look he sent her had her shivering in her seat. She knew he cared for her, and she certainly knew he would never dare to truly hurt part of his soul, but it was when they trained that she truly remembered that he used to lead a war. 

He would work her until she thought she would faint, and then they went another round. 

They started every lesson with the same exercise they had done the very first lesson, where he shot spell after spell her way and she attempted to dodge them until she could no longer even try. After he had healed her and reversed the spells, they would do it again, and as they went, he would quiz her on which spells she had missed and why. The third round, he would have her call out which spell he was casting as or before he cast it, judging only by the wand movements, his physical cues, and the color of the spell as it left his wand, and each failure brought harsher curses- perhaps she would try a bit harder if the stakes were a bit higher, or so was his reasoning. It was harsh, she knew it, but it was effective. She had improved at an extreme pace.

When they were done with those exercises, she would be given a few minutes to stretch and practice her flexibility, another thing which had improved drastically in a short period of time. It was usually about this time that the two would break for lunch, joining Lady Bellatrix and Lord Lestrange if they were available. 

After lunch was when she began her practice of magic.

Originally, after lunch was the time when they would practice hand to hand combat and self defense, but once he had decided it was time to start learning magic, they had begun to squeeze in the hand to hand with her dodging practice instead. She had asked for wand to borrow at one point and Lord Marvolo had simply scoffed, telling her of how he had mastered wandless magic as a child, and he expected the same of his soul. The expectations he held for her were quite intimidating, but, she supposed, between the options of high expectations from him and no expectations whatsoever from the Potters, she’d take his pressure any day.

Luckily, she had trained her magic to come for basic uses in the past- not full spells, of course, but small things like light and summoning small objects. She had tried levitating things in the past, and, while she could technically do it, she hadn’t managed to hold it for a particularly long amount of time, so she had little use for the skill, and she hadn’t continued to work on it.

He hadn’t decided to start off simple, of course. As soon as she admitted to being able to feel her magic while meditating, he had decided to test it. The first assignment had been a shield spell. She had read about a handful of them in a book, but she had been strongly warned against attempting to mimic a spell wandlessly that she had never tried, especially at the start.

This exercise consisted of him tossing things at her while she was in a partially meditative state and seeing how her magic responded. 

She swore it was just his vindictive nature showing through as some sort of revenge for his spell not being able to hit her all those years ago.

She had sat there, legs crossed and palms upwards on her knees, struggling to maintain her meditation through the distraction of the small pebbles, when a pebble hit her directly between the eyes. That had been all it took. She could feel the indignant rage heating her body, and the next pebble thrown bounced off a shield around her and hit Lord Marvolo right in his smug smile.

He had deducted from this that her magic was not one that protected her, but rather one that defended her. That wasn’t a very clear difference in her opinion, but she’d take his word for it. But she had mostly mastered the ability to create a shield that would stand against his pebbles while she meditated, so she wasn’t sure what would come next.

“Today,” Lord Marvolo announced, as he strode to the center of the room, “we’ll be practicing your wandless shield without meditation.”

She should have expected that, honestly.

And she should have expected the pebble that hit her forehead immediately following his words.

So she focused, focused on the peace inside her, focused on the brilliant gold of her magic shining in her mind and in her blood, and she concentrated on protecting herself- erm, defending herself- as she visualized the shield surrounding her.

“It’s not working,” she called out.

“What are you trying to do?” he called back, throwing another handful of the small rocks.

“The same thing as when I meditate?” she replied, but it came out as a question. “Clear my mind, focus on my magic, imagine a shield around me.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Therein lies the problem,” he informed her, his voice switching to teacher mode, even while he pelted her with the pebbles, which she began to dodge, quite well she thought, as it was. “Magic,” he continued, “wandless magic, and magic without spells especially, is about intent.”

“I know all this, milord.”

“Do you?” he cut her off sharply. “Because you still remain incapable of doing this. So I recommend you listen to me.”

She was suddenly grateful for the pebble hurled at her giving her reason to throw herself to the side and roll rather than meet his eyes. “Forgive me, milord. Please continue.”

“Magic is about intent,” he repeated. “Intent, desire, call it what you will. It is not a matter of force- never  _ force _ your magic- but it is certainly a matter of will. You cannot simply wish for something to happen, and clearing your mind may help to allow your magic free reign to defend you while you sit still, but that’s neither realistic nor effective in a duel. You must be in control.”

“I have to want it,” she realized. 

His responding smile was strangely sinister for such a simple realization. “Indeed.”

And he continued his assault.

This time, however, Anastasia made no effort to clear her mind, and instead, she allowed her emotions and her thoughts to flow through her, not spending excess time on them, but not forcing them away either. She focused in on her anger at him and his stupid rocks, an icy blue color chilling her body, her desire to get back at him and prove him wrong, a deep burgundy, and her intention of defending herself, a pure silver, all wrapped up in the magic in her veins.

The next time her threw a pebble, she reached out as though she was going to catch it, and willed her magic to gather in her hand, just a little. Sending a small pulse, she willed it into the form of a small disk in front of her hand for the pebble to bounce off of. 

And, like magic- true magic, with spells and actual results- it worked. Somewhat, at least.

The pebble was not repelled backwards towards Lord Marvolo, but it didn’t pass through the shield either. It was more as though it had hit a soft surface, like a pillow or something similar, that absorbed the impact but wouldn’t let it through, and the pebble simply fell to the floor with a a soft click.

“I did it!” she exclaimed, finally understanding why Alex would jump up and down every time he was happy. “I really did it, did you see that?"

His proud smile was a greater reward than the sweets and tickets and everything else that the Potters gave to Alex when he had accomplished something. He was proud of her. She had impressed him.

She could hold the world in her hand if she tried.

Her eyes lit up, dancing with excitement. “Again!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me being so nice, coming in with like 4500 words.
> 
> Actually though, this chapter just got away from me. It was originally going to be about a day with Sirius, but Alex decided to drag him off, and I couldn't stop him. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and please let me know your thoughts!!
> 
> What did you like? What parts were too brief or too drawn out? Did the characters feel natural? What do you want to see next chapter?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> summary: I show up two months late with starbucks and rush the story ahead so Ana can get to Hogwarts already!

Getting her Hogwarts letter, holding the thick yellowed parchment in her own hands, the envelope cast aside on her desk with her name in looping calligraphy and a broken wax seal in brilliant red glinting in the candlelight, made everything seem different. Not better, nor worse, nor anything else- just different.

It seemed more real somehow, the inevitability of Hogwarts, of school, of magic, of leaving home, of a million more things that would come with it. It had all come crashing down on her in that one moment all the changes coming for her, but she welcomed them all with open arms, despite a glance of hesitancy, her shaking hands as she read the letter for what must have been the thousandth time.

Dear Miss Potter, it read. We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have a place. _

It was like she had been placed under a compulsion spell to reread the one line until she could do nothing else, something she was still doing an hour later when a knock came at her door.

“Pandora?” a voice called softly, making her smile and drop the letter in her rush to the door.

“Uncle Siri,” she cried, throwing her arms around the man before he even got a chance to come in. “I’m so glad to see you again so soon.”

He picked her up so he could get into the room, shutting the door behind him before he replied. “I promised I’d be back today,” he reminded her. “I wasn’t very well gonna break that.”

“But you don’t usually come all the way up here to see me,” she chided. “I usually see you for five minutes before Alex pulls you away.”

Her intention had been to tease him, just to prove that she wasn’t being entirely silly in her surprise at the very sight of him, but he seemed to take it to heart, frowning thoughtfully as he sat down on her bed and let her climb off of him to sit beside him.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “I could write that off as the fact that the kid throws a tantrum every time someone tells him no, and me trying to prevent that because I know I can expect better from you, but that’s not a particularly good excuse, is it.”

“I- I’m not upset, Uncle Siri,” she tried to assure him, leaning her head on his arm as she didn’t reach his shoulder. “I was really just teasing.”

He shot a smile at her. “I know that, sweetheart, don’t worry. But you’re right, and that’s something I should be thinking about. I mean, I’m your-” he hesitated- “godfather. After all. Alex has his own godfather.”

She really had no clue what one said to something like that, so she just hummed and left it there.

He cleared his throat. “Did you get your letter? Those should’ve come today for you two.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, springing up from the bed and grabbing the letter from the floor by her desk. “Yes, yes, I got the letter. Oh, I’m so excited, Uncle Siri. I simply cannot  _ wait _ to get to Hogwarts.”

He laughed. “You sound just like I did back in the day,” he told her. “Merlin, feels like forever ago that I was on that train, just as excited and almost as short as you are now.”

“I am  _ not _ .”

“Oh? You’re not excited now?”

“I’m not  _ short _ .”

“You barely reach my chest standing up!”

“Maybe you’re just tall, have you considered that?”

“Never. Anyway,” he continued before she could retort, “there was something I wanted to tell you about.”

That sounded very serious. Her smile dropped and she turned to face him, sitting cross-legged with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing, nothing at all,” he hurried to assure her. “It’s nothing bad, it’s just something I should have told you a long time ago, probably. I just can’t figure out where to start.”

“The beginning usually works,” she said, knowing full well he would call her a smartass for it.

“There’s not really a beginning,” was all he said. “Er… you’re smart.”

“Thank you?”

“No, no, like… What have you read about succession?” he blurted finally.

She blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Lord to Heir?” she asked, bewildered at the question. He had been raised a Black; didn’t he know all of that? “The reigning Lord or Lady of a House names an Heir, a child if he has one, then a close family member, then the child of an ally,” she recited. He hadn’t told her to stop, so she kept going, assuming she hadn’t mentioned whatever he was going for. “A house can be patrilineal, passing father to son, matrilineal, passing mother to daughter, or neither, passing from eldest child to eldest child. These distinctions are made by Mother Magic herself, and the rightful Heir or Heiress of a House will receive the family Magicks to pass down their line, and-”

“Yes. That,” he cut her off in relief. “The part about patrilineal and matrilineal lines. Do you know which one the Potter House is?”

“Neither,” she replied automatically. “That’s how my father is the rightful Lord Potter and I’m the Heiress.”

“And do you know what House Black is?”

She froze. “Erm… patrilineal? I believe? Wait, no, Callista Black was the reigning Lady in the early 1800’s, I know that much. I read her book. I suppose it’s neither?”

“Of course you would know about Callista,” he muttered fondly. “But you’re incorrect,” he added, pushing himself farther back on her bed so he could stretch his legs out in front of him. “House Black is matrilineal. Always has been.”

“But you’re-”

“Regent Lord Black,” he interrupted before she could finish. “With a fair bit of emphasis on Regent. I can do just about nothing with my power as Lord beside keeping the Magicks happy. And the moment the next Lady Black is old enough to take her ascension, my power becomes stolen.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Anastasia had to ask. “I understand everything you’re telling me, but I don’t understand what it has to do with me?”

“Well,” he began. “I don’t exactly want kids, you know? Not sure how I’d ever actually go about having one of my own. So when my best mate had a daughter, you see, the cutest little kid I’d ever seen, named her Heiress, named me godfather…” he trailed off.

It took a few moments for it to hit her, but when it did, it came like a sucker punch directly to the gut. “You didn’t,” she breathed.

“Congratulations,” he tried weakly. “You have another dad.”

She stared at him for a few moments. Her  _ dad _ . A dad who loved her, who chose her, who wanted her. A rather unconventional way to have a father, she supposed, but Uncle Siri was not a man she would call conventional. She did the only thing she could think to do. 

She bloody tackled him.

In a hug, at least.

“Congratulations?” she cried, laughing a bit hysterically. “You tell me you’re my father, and all you can think to say is congratulations?”

He wrapped his arms around her and rocked back and forth as she buried her face in his neck, her happiness overflowing into tears as she held him so tightly that he had to wonder if she would ever let go. “I take it you’re happy with the news?” he asked sheepishly. 

“Thrilled,” she told him, and she didn’t think she’d ever been more honest about something in her life. “But, erm, I’m Heiress Black, too?”

“Yep,” he said proudly. “Two Heirships already, you have. You can go anywhere you want with that.”

“I just want to go to Hogwarts right now, I think,” she admitted, finally releasing him from her embrace.

“And you can do that, too,” he assured her. “I just mean you get a lot of stability from all that. You have a fallback. You can always hire somebody to deal with your responsibilities as Lady of the Houses if you don’t end up wanting to do it. That’s what I used to do- I hate political stuff, I just had to keep up good appearances in recent years. That’s the only reason I even go to their meetings or whatever. But you’re good at all the formal stuff, so you’ll probably be fine anyway.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t wrong about that. Formality was something she could handle.

The news of Uncle Siri actually being her other  _ father _ was enough to carry her through the rest of the summer with a smile on her face, so noticeable that even Lady Bellatrix noticed it within a few days, and she had thrown a miniature celebration in honor of the new Heiress Black. She had said that she had felt it in her bones, in her blood, when Anastasia accepted the Heirship, that the family Magicks that she hadn’t even realized were frenzied had calmed, and it was a source of peace for likely the entire Black family. 

Lily and James took her and Alex to Diagon the following weekend, and Anastasia was grateful that she already had many of the things she would need, as it was only for lack of trying that the Potters didn’t simply lose her in the crowd. But she came out of it all with a trunkload of new things and, best of all, her wand.

She had met Ollivander once before, as he had come by to see Alex, and he looked exactly the same five years later, she swore. Same wild hair and bushy eyebrows and curious stares.

He had tested wands on Alex first, different woods and different cores, until James finally murmured something to him and gave Alex a wand, oak and phoenix feather, from the same phoenix as the Dark Lord’s wand, so Ollivander said, which only made Anastasia stifle a laugh.

There had been a wand with the brother core to Marvolo’s, he had told her as much, but it certainly wasn’t in the wand that Ollivander held. Marvolo had taken the core, four or five years ago if she remembered correctly, and replaced it with a fresh one. She wasn’t surprised about the wand that chose Alex, though. Everything she had read about wandlore set that wand up to match his personality.

It had taken her longer than him to find her wand, as she didn’t have any ideas as to what hers may have been, but after burning off Ollivander’s eyebrows, breaking two of his cabinets, and turning a wand itself green, she found her home in a wand of blackthorn and phoenix feather, which caught her a few glares from James until Uncle Siri reminded him that a great number of their fellow aurors had blackthorn wands.

She had seen Rigel in Madam Malkin’s, and, as the Potters were in the room, if on the other side, they faked a ridiculous conversation during which he badgered her about who she was and which house she would be in, sniffing pompously at the ideas of muggleborns and Gryffindors, which kept James and Alex’s attention away from Anastasia for long enough for her to breathe.

Before she had even noticed it, it was time to go to Hogwarts.

________

“Those twins are hilarious,” Draco stated before visibly cringing. “Never thought I’d say that about a  _ Weasley _ .”

“Why? What’s a Weasley?” asked the girl sitting across from Draco, taken slightly aback by his level of disgust.

“That’s their House,” Anastasia answered automatically.

The girl just laughed aloud. “They named their house?”

Anastasia frowned in confusion. “Not the house they live in, their House is their family. I believe the Mundane, er, Muggle world had established Houses a few hundred years ago, too.”

“You mean like with Lords?” Ana nodded. “But isn’t that a bit, well, archaic?”

Draco shot to his feet, his mouth contorting in anger. “Why you ignorant little-!”

Anastasia whipped around to face him. “Scion Malfoy,” she said sharply. “It would do your house a slight to insult a lady.”

Sending one last glare at the stranger, he dropped back into his seat. “Forgive me, Heiress. I meant no disrespect.”

Ana raised a brow, trying to channel Lady Bellatrix. She looked him up and down, watching him twitch under her gaze. “Forgiven.” He sighed in relief. “Now, Miss…”

“Granger,” the girl answered quickly. “Hermione Granger.”

“Muggleborn?” Draco sneered.

“And what’s it to you?” she shot back, crossing her arms, immediately on the defensive.

Anastasia smiled at her. “Merry meet, Miss Granger,” she interrupted. “The Houses in the Magical world are not archaic, though they are traditional. Our culture is quite different from that of Mun- Muggles, but we are no less advanced.”

“You can’t claim to be advanced and still live in the 1700’s,” Granger said matter-of-factly. 

“We don’t live in the 1700’s. Much has changed for us since then, and if you refer to the 1700’s in the Muggle world, you’re using a very inaccurate point of reference.”

She rolled her eyes. “Who even are you?”

“Forgive me, I’ve forgotten to introduce myself,” Anastasia apologized, internally scolding herself. “I’m Anastasia Potter, Heiress of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter. My companion is Draco Malfoy of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy.”

Granger nodded slowly, looking like she was about to pull out a pen to take notes. “And I call you…?”

“Well, if you wish to follow the traditions, you would call Draco Scion Malfoy, and I should be Heiress Potter. If you don’t wish to follow the traditions, you can call us whatever you please.”

“And people actually follow them?”

“Most of the Ancient or Noble Houses do, as do most Houses, actually. The numbers have gone down due to, erm, Muggleborns. Many expect us to adapt to their world, even though they’re the ones moving to ours,” Anastasia explained as best she could.

Granger seemed deep in thought. “Muggleborns, like me, are considered a lower class, especially by the purebloods. That’s what all the books said.”

Draco cut in. “That’s because the Mudbl-”

“ _ Silencio _ .”

The rest of his sentence didn’t come out.

“Only a very,  _ very, _ small number of people would judge someone simply for being a Muggleborn. The issue is more with anyone who tries to take away our culture and replace it with Muggles’. That often means Muggleborns, but some Purebloods and Halfbloods do the same.”

“So people would hate me for not, erm, following the traditions?”

“Look, Miss Granger,” Anastasia said bluntly. “It’s a controversial topic regardless. The people who do follow them would disapprove of your not following them, and the people who do not follow them would disapprove of you following them.”

Granger furrowed her brow and began picking absently at the back of her left hand with her right. She glanced at Draco uncomfortably.

“ _ Finite, Muffliato _ ,” Anastasia cast, dispelling the silencing charm and putting up a ward. “He can’t hear us.”

“Thank you, Potter.”

“Call me Anastasia,” she offered.

Granger smiled, but it was quickly replaced with a thoughtful frown. “If there’s going to be people hating me no matter what I do, which of these people are more… powerful, I guess?”

Anastasia raised her eyebrows in surprise. “What do you mean by that, Miss Granger?”

“Hermione, please. And… well, I suppose I’m not sure exactly, but I want to know who’s, you know, bad side not to get on. And I- I want to be worth something here,” Hermione confessed earnestly. “If not following these traditions means I’ll never get anywhere in Magical society, I want to learn them. If that’s what would happen if i  _ do _ follow them, then I’m forgetting this conversation and moving on to the twentieth century.”

With how blunt this girl wanted her to be, she would probably be a Gryffindor. “Almost all of the powerful families follow the traditions. Each family has political power, the amount depends on their rank. If you want in with those people, you follow them. If you want in with Dumbledore and my family and the Weasleys, who can get you opportunities and friends, but no power, don’t follow them.”

“Your family doesn’t follow them?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“Not my immediate family, no. I’m the only traditionalist among them. All my ancestors did, though.”

She could practically see the gears turning in the other girl’s head. “I’m learning them,” Hermione decided. “It might be backwards, but I…  _ suppose _ I can’t know that for sure unless I know them for myself.” Anastasia could have laughed at how indignant the girl looked to admit she and her sources could be making assumptions. “And you could teach them to me!” she added suddenly. Anastasia’s brows shot off her forehead. “You know all of them and if you’re going to claim everyone should know them then wouldn’t it be practically your duty to teach them to someone who wants to know?”

A slow smile crept across Anastasia’s face once she processed what Hermione had said- she spoke  _ very _ fast. “I would be delighted.”

Hermione sent her a dazzling smile, her eyes betraying more gratitude than Ana could imagine.

“When can we start?” Hermione asked eagerly.

“Right now. First step,” she instructed, looking disdainfully at the other girl’s slouching figure, “fix your posture.”

Hermione straightened.

“You look like you’re made of wood,” Anastasia informed her. Hermione’s face fell. “Look at how I’m sitting. Feet to the side, back straight, shoulders down, head high. But I don’t look stiff. Imagine it more as though there’s a string going from your belly button up to the ceiling. You’re sitting straight but still relaxed.”

Hermione adjusted her posture, relaxing her shoulders but keeping her back straight.

“Almost,” Anastasia praised. “Your chest doesn’t need to be quite so far out… perfect.”

“Really?” the other girl asked hopefully.

“Mhmm. You’ll get better with practice but you’ve got it correct.”

“What else can you teach me?” 

“In…” she cast a  _ tempus _ , “twenty minutes? Not much. Stay calm, and remember that we’re at school. Your priority should be learning, not becoming powerful.”

By the Goddess was she a hypocrite.

“I know that,” Hermione agreed. “And I don’t want to be  _ powerful _ , per se; I just...  _ refuse _ to let my knowledge to go to waste.”

“It won’t. That’s a promise.”

Anastasia cancelled her silencing and privacy charms and sent Draco out of the compartment so she and Hermione could change into their school robes. 

The rest of the train ride went quickly, and before they knew it, they could see the castle before them.

“It’s beautiful,” Hermione breathed. 

Anastasia smiled at the girl with her nose practically pressed against the glass and nodded in agreement. “It’s even more beautiful on the inside.”

“You’ve been?”

“That’s part of the perks of being twins with the Boy-Who-Lived,” Ana said lightly, bitterness barely tinging her words. “They’ve brought me along a handful of times when they visit.”

“I wish I had been before,” Hermione admitted. “Or grown up here at all.”

“I’ll never understand why they don’t tell New- Muggleborns about the Magical world until right before school begins. It would be a lot easier to adapt if you had more time to learn and explore.”

Hermione nodded. “What were you about to call us?”

Anastasia weighed her options. “Newbloods. It’s the more proper term for Muggleborns.”

“What’s wrong with Muggleborns?”

“Nothing’s  _ wrong _ with it, but the proper, or traditionalist at least, word for Muggles is Mundanes. And traditionally, Mages have seen no reason to address a significant portion of the population by the fact that their parents aren’t magical. We refer to you by what you are to the Magical community- the first of a new line, a new house.”

“And why was it changed?”

Anastasia frowned. She didn’t want to explain Light and Dark politics yet, it would be unnecessary and confusing. “You know how I said some Mages think we should all act like Muggles and adapt to their culture?”

“The same people who won’t like that I follow the traditions.”

“Yes. Well these people also hate the idea of differentiating between Magical and non-Magical blood. See, there’s Purebloods, Halfbloods, and Newbloods, by traditionalist terms. Purebloods have two magical parents, Halfbloods have one, and Newbloods have zero. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t say ‘yeah’, it’s improper,” Anastasia corrected automatically. “Be assertive, definitive; know what you mean and say it.”

“Yes, that makes sense,” Hermione corrected. She wondered how even the word ‘yeah’ sounded so unnatural on the other girl’s lips. It was hard to imagine that such formal speech patterns could actually become instinctive.

“Thank you. Now, some people were taking those words too far, worrying too much about “blood purity” and wanting only Purebloods in their House. So, the non-traditionalists tried to take all blood-related terms out of our vocabularies. Hence Muggles and Muggleborns.”

“But those words just sound silly,” Hermione huffed. “They say I shouldn’t be judged for my blood and yet they make my whole identity around the fact that my parents aren’t magical.”

“I feel the same. You don’t have to use the words; certainly no traditionalist will.”

“Good.”

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!” shouted a man, if he could be called that, who was at least twice the height of any normal person and probably five times wider. “Tha’ ev’rybody? Firs’ years follow me!”

Anastasia walked between her friends, following the giant and the rest of the first years through what appeared to be a forest that surrounded the castle. Murmured conversations blanketed their walk, but mostly, everyone stayed quiet.

“Alrigh’, no more’n four to a boat!” the giant called, gesturing to a line of boats on the edge of the lake.

The two girls followed the rather oversized man towards rows of boats. Draco, who had caught back up with them on the way off the train, offered his arm first to Anastasia, then to Hermione, after climbing into the boat himself. The three students got situated, and soon enough, the boats began to propel themselves across the lake. 

Hermione took a deep breath; she wasn’t sure why, but she felt as though this interaction could make or break her social standing. “Scion Malfoy,” she began, her heart pounding in her chest. He looked over, nodding to tell her to continue. She tried to channel one of the girls in the Jane Austen books. 

How would Lizzie Bennett talk to Draco Malfoy? Or Catherine Morland, or Elinor Dashwood? They would know what to do in her situation.

“I would like to apologize for my earlier comments about the nature of our culture,” she announced, hoping her false confidence wasn’t too thin a mask. “I find myself woefully uneducated about the traditions of the magical world, but I promise you these flaws will soon be rectified. I truly beg your forgiveness if I have offended you in any way.”

She held her breath as he continued to stare at her. “All is forgiven,” he said finally, though she would bet most of her scholarship that the glare Anastasia was sending him was the main factor behind his decision. “You cannot help the ignorance forced upon you by your upbringing, and I should only dare to pass judgement on a fully informed decision. It would be my honor if you would be willing to start again, on a foundation with no preconceived notions from either party.”

How on Earth did he speak like that? And Anastasia as well- Hermione was keenly aware that the simple language she had used for their conversation had come rather unnaturally to her. They were both so…  _ formal _ , and yet they didn’t seem boring or stiff. Rather they seemed fully relaxed and natural, just proper. 

“The honor would be mine, Scion Malfoy” she replied, sending up her prayers that it was the right thing to say. 

Apparently it was, if the look that passed between her two companions was anything to go by.

The conversation turned to other things, mainly Anastasia and Scion Malfoy telling Hermione about the people they passed. It was hard to ask about about anyone specific, however, as she was quickly informed that, even at a school filled with children, she was never to physically point. But Scion Malfoy pointed out (figuratively, of course) his friends, and Anastasia showed her her brother. It was still hard for Hermione to believe that Anastasia’s  _ twin brother _ was the Boy-Who-Lived. 

Before she knew it, Scion Malfoy was helping them out of the boat on the other side of the lake. 

“Just one moment, Miss Granger,” he stopped her politely, as she moved to follow him out of the boat. 

She frowned in confusion as he waited for Anastasia to pass in front of her to hold his arm as she stepped from the rocking boat, and, once she was stable on the shore, he offered his arm to Hermione.

“What…?” she asked, trailing off as she realized she had no idea what to ask. 

“Draco attended to me first because I’m of a higher rank,” Anastasia offered, saving her. “The only rank above the Heiress to a Most Ancient and Noble House is a Lady, and there are only a handful of seventh years here who have accepted their ascension. The only people he would attend to before me would be a Lady or the girl he was courting, if there was one.”

She nodded slowly. It all seemed rather backwards to her, but there were worse things than being helped out of a boat. She would just have to keep her eyes open in case she learned of something that would break the illusion of such a romantic world. It couldn’t hurt to wait a little longer before getting her hopes up, right?

She wanted to keep asking questions, but she was soon pushing through a crowd of people to get through the door without losing her companions. She wasn’t quite ready to call them friends yet, she wasn’t sure if people as proper as Anastasia and Scion Malfoy would use the term ever.

“I have another question,” she continued, once the first years had all gotten into the entrance hall and quieted down. 

“Ask. It’s better than remaining ignorant,” Scion Malfoy replied, a smiling teasing his lips. She couldn’t tell if that was a jab or a joke. She hoped a joke.

She directed her question at Anastasia. “Why is it that you’re the Heiress and not your brother? Don’t titles usually pass through the son?”

“Why would they do that?” Scion Malfoy asked.

“They did in the Mundane world,” Anastasia answered him, before turning to Hermione. “It rarely has anything to do with gender here, just age. I was born before my brother, so Magic has marked me Heir of House Potter.”

“Magic marked you?”

Scion Malfoy took this question. “When a magical family has been around for a long time, they start to develop Family Magicks. These can range from power boosts to natural aptitudes, or really anything else. The Heir or Heiress will receive the bulk of the Family Magicks as they’re the one who will keep the name and title and carry it through their own children.”

“So firstborns inherit because they’re the most powerful. Does each child get less and less powerful after that?”

“It’s not that they’re more powerful so much as they  _ carry _ more power. The Family Magicks may only affect them a little, but they carry that power and can pass it down,” Anastasia explained. “But every child after that has the same chances for the Family Magicks to affect them though only to a lesser extent, and they simply won’t pass them down.”

“For example,” Scion Malfoy continued, “My brother is the Heir of the Malfoy family. The Family Magicks favor him and chose him to be Heir. However, my parents still  _ could _ , technically, name me Heir. I would inherit the title and political power, yes, but the Family Magicks would continue through Rigel’s line and make it the major branch. So it’s simply not done.”

“Not to mention that his very magic would reject all magical uses of his Headship,” Anastasia added. “There are certain ceremonies that can only be performed with the Head of House, and, while he may wear the Head ring, his magic wouldn’t allow him to perform them,” she explained, sensing Hermione’s confusion.

“That makes sense,” Hermione agreed. “I’m glad it’s not patrilineal like the Mug-  _ Mundane _ world. That really was my main worry. I’m assuming women don’t have to take their husband’s names if they inherit?”

“Why would they do that?” Scion Malfoy cut in. 

“Draco,  _ darling _ , does her phrasing really not imply to you that these are customs to the Mundane world,” Anastasia asked, her exasperation barely slipping through her tone.

“I understand why she’s asking, I just don’t understand why that would be a custom,” Scion Malfoy argued. 

“Well, I can’t say I do either, actually,” she confessed. “Why would women automatically take their husband’s name?”

“That’s, well, I’m not sure how it started,” Hermione admitted. “It’s just always been that way, so I figured it would be the same here.”

“That’s so strange,” Anastasia said, fascinated. “We’ve never had that here. Look, I think the sorting’s about to start. We can discuss this more another time, alright?”

“Yeah…." She trailed off, watching her fingers intently as they tapped patterns on her thigh.

“Are you alright, Miss Granger?” Scion Malfoy asked. 

“I guess I’m just worried about the sorting,” she told them, trying to casually brush off his concerns, but failing miserably. She sighed. “What if I don’t fit in my house? What if I don’t even belong in a house and they can’t sort me? I heard there was some type of house rivalry- will you two hate me if we’re on opposite sides?” Her words spilled out faster and faster as she went until she was out of breath.

“Hermione,” Anastasia said firmly. She looked up to meet the other girl’s eyes. “You’re going to be sorted into a house because you’re a witch, and a smart one at that. You’re going to fit in and have a wonderful time. And we are  _ not _ going to abandon you because of some petty house rivalry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Anastasia turned to glare at Scion Malfoy. “ _ Right _ ?”

He looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. “No, Miss Granger, we aren’t going to abandon you for the house you get into.”

“Thank you,” Hermione sniffled. “Thank you both very much.”

“Of course, dear,” Anastasia assured her. “Now dry your tears and stand up straight.”

Hermione stood up and reached to wipe away her tears. 

“Here.” Scion Malfoy held out a handkerchief. 

“I wouldn’t want to ruin it,” Hermione told him, shaking her head. 

This time he actually did roll his eyes. “It has self-cleaning enchantments, Miss Granger. And it’s yours to keep. Trust me, I have more.”

“Thank you, Scion Malfoy,” she said, taking it and wiping her eyes and nose. She stuffed the handkerchief, the extremely clean handkerchief, in the inside pocket of her robes.

“Look,” Anastasia said excitedly. “The doors are opening. You’re going to get your first glimpse of the Great Hall!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I have no reason for being gone for two months except that life is hard and I've been focusing on my other fic (its called Spite and Normalcy, and you should read it). But I'm back with some chapters that I at least somewhat like, so I hope you enjoyed and please tell me what you thought!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorting time!!

Double doors creaked open before them, exposing the most amazing room Hermione had ever seen. The walls stretched so high that she could barely see where they ended, and the ceiling looked like the sky above them. She had read about the enchantment in Hogwarts: A History, but the book simply couldn’t do it justice. Stars and galaxies danced above them, occasionally obscured by a wispy cloud. Chandeliers hung from nowhere, floating above the tables with candles burning and flickering and making everything seem all the more romantic. Four tables ran parallel to the line the first years had formed to walk in, and far at the head of the room was a dais that held a table perpendicular to the others and a podium. It looked like something out of a movie.

“Quiet!” a sharp voice rang out.

A few minutes later, the hall had quieted to a dull murmur and the same professor made another announcement. “The sorting may now begin.”

Anastasia saw Hermione shaking, though less than before, and reached down to hold her hand. It wasn’t particularly proper, but she knew it was what her new friend needed.

Anastasia had her own anxieties about the sorting, though she was, of course, better at hiding them then Hermione. Alex would get sorted before her, luckily. She hoped there would be enough uproar from his sorting that no one would really hear hers.

She absolutely refused to go to Gryffindor, though Hermione seemed the type for it. She could  _ not _ deal with her brother’s drooling sycophants for another moment. Not to mention the lack of value she placed on bravery (foolishness), honor (self-righteousness), persistence (stubbornness), and chivalry. Well, she valued chivalry, but only in the sense of Traditionalism. And that wasn’t a particularly Gryffindor trait anymore.

Hufflepuff would go over fine with her family, though they would be a bit disappointed she wasn’t Gryffindor. They would probably forget about her, much like they already did. But she wouldn’t fit in there, and she knew it. Nor did she want to be forgotten.

Ravenclaw… Ravenclaw would be fine. James and Lily would start working to keep her away from dark magic, especially with Ravenclaw’s more recent reputation. But aside from a few concerns, she could learn what she wanted to and quietly fade into the background. It would be fine, she supposed, but she simply didn’t want to fade into the background again. She was sick of it.

So that left Slytherin. She could have shuddered at the mere thought of James and Lily’s reaction to  _ that _ news. If all went well, she wouldn’t have to return home until the next summer but still…. She hated James’ punishments, rare though she let them be. She could just learn healing charms for that, though. Or find somewhere else to stay. 

Oh, who was she kidding. She knew full well where she belonged. She would be able to develop a network in Slytherin, be surrounded by other people with ambitions like hers, safely practice the Ancient traditions. It sounded like heaven. And Draco was expecting to go to Slytherin as well, as were Blaise and Daphne. 

Oh, holy goddess. How were Blaise and Daphne going to react to her identity? They only knew her through the mask of Nocturne, after all. Would they be angry at her for lying? Would they hate her for her family? Or for her brother? Would they be ashamed to associate with her when she wasn’t undercover? Would they tell everyone of her identity?

She needed to stop. There was no use in getting so emotional. Imagine if someone saw! She steadied her breathing and blanked her expression. She came out of her thoughts in time to hear only the very end of the Sorting Hat’s song. And thank the goddess for that. From what she’d heard, those songs only got worse as the hat aged.

“Abbott, Hannah,” Professor McGonagall called.

A short, chubby girl with blond pigtails stepped forward, her face showing her fear. Anastasia wondered why anyone would let such an emotion show so strongly in public. The girl was in a crowd of potential friends and enemies, and she let them all know that she was scared.  _ How strange. _ Abbott rushed up to the stool at the bottom of the steps to the dais and sat down, putting on the hat and waiting. A few seconds later they got their answer.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

The hall burst into applause, most of it coming from the Badgers. She took a seat on the benches of the yellow and black table, and Anastasia could see them welcoming her. The Badgers were like that, it was hard to not be welcome there.

Following Scion Abbott was “Alexander, Logan” and “Bones, Susan”, two more Hufflepuffs, then “Boot, Terry” whose cheers came from the Ravens. After that was a Gryffindor, “Brown, Lavender”, and finally a Slytherin, “Bulstrode, Millicent.”

She got significantly less applause.

That was, in part, because Slytherins, being made up of traditionalists and those who pretended to be traditionalists so as not to commit social suicide, simply wouldn’t cheer the same way the other houses would. They would happily applaud their new members, of course, but jumping, screaming, standing on tables? It would be horribly improper. Mainly, however, the lack of applause was due to the boos coming from the Lions and what was practically silence from the other two tables. 

From what she understood, from older or former students she had talked to, along with her books, was that there were unspoken rules of who could cheer for Slytherins. Anyone could cheer for their sibling or other family member, houses aside. Other than that, Gryffindors weren’t to cheer for Snakes, but Ravens could cheer quietly if they were acquainted with the Slytherin in question. Hufflepuffs could honestly cheer for anyone as they could write it off as their accepting Hufflepuff nature, but they rarely did, preferring to sit politely with no reaction at all.

Anastasia thought it a rather awful system, but she was glad there were rules to these interactions as well, even if they weren’t official. 

She heard “Finnegan, Seamus” get sorted into Gryffindor, and she squeezed Hermione’s hand, knowing the other girl would be called soon. 

“Granger, Hermione.”

“That’s you, dear,” she spoke, directly into Hermione’s ear. “Go up and get sorted now.”

“Friends no matter what, right?” Hermione asked, her voice a little desperate.

“No matter what. Now go,” she said again, pushing the other girl forward gently.

Hermione walked down the aisle, feeling each step on the hard stone floor pounding into her very bones. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, but she reminded herself that the same treatment was given to every student, not just her. It helped a little. She kept Anastasia’s response, “No matter what”, on repeat like a mantra in her head. She would go to the house the hat thought she belonged in, and she would make the best of it.

She took her place on the rickety stool and placed the hat on her head, careful that it wouldn’t fall over her face.

_ “Hmmm,” _ went a voice.

She stiffened.  _ ‘Are you the hat?’ _ she asked, feeling a bit silly trying to think a question at a disembodied voice.

_ “I am, indeed,” _ it replied with satisfaction.

_ ‘What house are you sending me to?’  _ she asked it, trying to be polite and calm the way Anastasia told her, but her impatience and excitement won out.

_ “That’s partially your choice,” _ it told her.  _ “I’ve ruled out Hufflepuff, you don’t have the patience for it. And I’m ruling out Slytherin for the same reason. Their politics wouldn’t interest you in the least.” _

_ ‘So that leaves Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, right?’ _

_ “Right in one. Your values match Gryffindor, their persistence, their bravery. But your traits more match Ravenclaw, especially that traditionalism if you follow it…. Depends on what you’re trying to get out of Hogwarts.” _

She thought hard.  _ ‘I want to learn everything I can,’ _ she told the hat. She remembered its comments about her interest in traditionalism.  _ ‘And I want it to be worth something.’ _

_ “Well in that case- _

“RAVENCLAW!”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at the applause that followed, and, setting the hat back on the stool, took a seat at the blue and bronze table. She met Anastasia’s eyes and saw the proud smile that covered her face. 

Directly after Hermione was “Greengrass, Daphne.” Anastasia held her breath as her secret best friend practically danced down the aisle to where the hat waited, her hair swaying behind her. Her sorting took longer than many of the others, but a few minutes later, she was sent to Slytherin. Anastasia cheered for her friend; Daphne had been dreaming of Slytherin for years, but her family, Daphne herself included, had expected her to be sent to Ravenclaw like her father.

A few sortings later was “Malfoy, Draconis”. 

Both Anastasia and Hermione were expecting the outcome, not to mention Draco himself, but he was sent to Slytherin as soon as the hat touched his head. They each clapped politely, Anastasia out of etiquette and Hermione out of self-preservation. 

Not too long after Draco’s was the Dreaded Sorting. Well, no, Anastasia was just being melodramatic. The rest of the Great Hall sat practically bouncing in excitement when “Potter, Alexander” was called.

He sauntered down the aisle with a proud grin and flopped onto the stool in a move Ana decided he probably hoped looked carefree and confident. No sooner had the hat settled on his head that it screamed out “GRYFFINDOR!”.

Her baby brother blew a kiss to the cheering crowd and made his way to the red and gold table. Anastasia sneered. With the way the table was decorated, it could have come directly out of their dining room at home.

_ Please call me before this dies down, please call me before this dies down _ , Anastasia prayed as the screaming continued, multiple minutes after Alex’s sorting.

“Silence!” Professor McGonagall practically shrieked.

The hall, unfortunately, obeyed.

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Potter, Anastasia,” she read off clearly.

Ana’s throat felt as though it had entirely closed as she gasped for even a tiny breath. She held her mask as usual, but she could feel her eyes burning. She looked over at the Slytherin table and met Draco’s gaze. As she pushed through the crowd, she saw him discreetly grasp his wand, casting a spell they used frequently. 

Smoke that only she could see came in curls from his mouth spelling out a message.  _ Aeternaliter.  _

It was their word. She and Draco weren’t the best of friends, in fact it was rare that they got along for any extended period of time. But it had been a year and a half ago or so that he had learned who she really was, as Lady Bellatrix only wanted to keep a secret from her own sister for so long. And around six months after that she and Draco had the most important conversation they had had yet. Their friendship was tentative, but above that, they were cousins. And far, far above that, they were allies. Friendship either worked or didn’t, but their alliance was a choice. And it would last forever.  _ Aeternaliter _ . 

With that in mind, she made her way to the stool, letting her rather intimidating elegance quell the whispers. She took her seat on the stool, placed the hat on her head, and waited. 

_ “What an interesting mind,” _ came the hat’s voice in her mind.

_ ‘Do you speak to every student?’ _ Anastasia asked curiously.

_ “A lot of ‘em. Only the ones I don’t immediately know how to sort.” _

Anastasia had a hard time believing that.  _ ‘One would imagine you know better than I do where I belong.’ _

_ “True,” _ the hat conceded.  _ “Though I admit I didn’t expect you to be so willing. But if you’re sure…” _

Anastasia swallowed her nerves.  _ ‘I am.’ _

_ “Then it really must be- _

“SLYTHERIN!”

Needless to say, the hall was absolutely silent. But Anastasia didn’t let that discourage her. She knew she wouldn’t get applause, it was useless to let it get to her. She set the hat back down and made her way to the Slytherin table, hearing a few Slytherins, Draco at the head of them, clapping politely, and took the seat Draco had saved her beside him and across from Rigel.

There were only a few names after hers, and then the sorting ended with Blaise joining her and Draco in Slytherin.

Other than her, it was pretty uneventful. Most people ended up where they were expected, or close to, and no one started any drama as she had heard could happen. She still heard whispers about her sorting, but she chose to tune them out and very pointedly not look at Alex.

“Now that we are all where we belong,” Dumbledore began, “there are a few things that must be said. Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I would like to quickly say a few words. And here they are: Snickerdoodle! Cattywampus! Lollygag! Jib! Thank you. With that said, I believe it is time to stuff our bellies with all the food they can handle.”

As Anastasia expected, but much to the surprise of most of the first years, a feast began to pop into existence all around them. Platters towered high, stack with every food she could think of. 

This, this was a true feast. Plates upon plates were loaded with food, there for the taking. Some things she recognized, roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, potatoes done multiple ways, peas, carrots. And many dishes that she had no idea what they were. She looked around, hiding her nerves under a happy, confident mask. 

Wondering if it worked at all like it did at the feasts she had played at, she looked down at her plate and whispered, “Rosemary roast duck, mashed potatoes, and asparagus, please.” As she had hoped, the food she asked for appeared on her plate before she could even get out the last word. She smiled. “Thank you.”

It was fabulous, like everything else about Hogwarts. She chatted with Draco and his friend Scion Nott, casual things like classes and books they read and their summers. The Slytherins were not particularly loud, but that didn't take away from the overall celebratory mood. Gryffindor, for example, was boisterous and loud the whole time. Anastasia was only grateful she hadn't been put there. She liked the casual formality of Slytherin house. It was calm and safe. She knew what to expect. But that wouldn’t last forever. Of course it wouldn’t.

“You’re Alex Potter’s sister,” blurted an older boy.

_ Really? _ she thought sarcastically. _ I had no idea. _

“I’m sure you understand, as it would take quite the fool not to understand such a thing,” Rigel cut in sharply, “but I imagine she’s fully aware of her sibling’s name.”

“Of course,” the boy replied, his cheeks flushing slightly at the reprimand. “But I was simply asking the Potter girl about-”

Draco raised a brow. “Perhaps my good brother should take his judgement back, then. Not a word out of your mouth was posed as a question, only a blatant observation with no intellectual value. If there’s something you wish for  _ Heiress Potter _ to answer for you, perhaps start with proper address.”

Even her training couldn’t keep the flush from her cheeks, though she quickly hid it behind a forkful of asparagus. Draco’s defense of her could have cost him his social standing if he hadn’t been careful, but protecting her was the one thing for which he became reckless. It was highly appreciated, but not altogether unexpected. Rigel’s defense, on the other hand, was more meaningful for the Slytherins. He was only a third year, but he was already high on the Slytherin Court, and posed to be King in his last years. Where Draco’s defense could have lowered his standing, Rigel’s raised hers immediately. His message was clear: she was under his protection. Looks were passed around the table after the small confrontation, and it was obvious enough what they meant.

She smiled gratefully at the brothers, hoping they’d understand just how much it meant to her.

The rest of the feast went by quickly. The food was delicious, the company quality, and Dumbledore’s speech, thankfully, short. 

“I hope the feast was satisfactory,” he chuckled with the rest of the school, giving the crowd a twinkling smile. “Now there are rules for us to go over. The Forbidden Forest is, for all intents and purposes, forbidden.” There were a few snorts at that, mostly from the Gryffindor table, but everyone seemed between amused and disapproving at the shocking news. “Your schedules will be handed out in the morning, and your prefects will explain the minor rules and curfews. Prefects,” he gestured to them and a handful of students at each table stood and waved. “I also must introduce our new Defense professor. Everyone please give a warm welcome to Professor Shafiq.”

A tall, striking man with caramel skin and sharp features stood from the end of the staff table and took a little bow. Everyone clapped for him, a few whistles breaking through the polite applause.

“Professor Shafiq will only be here for a year, as a favor to me. So let’s make it a good year, hmm?” he finished, looking pointedly at a set of redheaded twins in Gryffindor.

“And now I must warn you of another new thing for this year,” he continued, looking over his glasses quite gravely. “The left side corridor on the third floor is off limits for all those who don't wish to meet an extremely painful death.”

“That’s a surefire way to make every student in this school want to go to that corridor,” Anastasia heard a girl whisper.

“Especially the Gryffindors,” another added. “They  _ encourage _ danger in that house.”

“Not to mention the Ravenclaws,” spoke up another. “Their curiosity will be the death of them.”

“Now, I believe that is all I have to say, as the rest of the rules will be covered in-house. Prefects,” he ordered, “escort the first years to your common rooms.”

“Alright,” a girl called. “First years this way. Follow me.”

She led them up a rather winding path through the school and into the dungeons, until they stopped at one of the dead ends. 

“What are we-” began one of the first years.

“This is where our common room is located,” the girl announced. “The password changes every few days, but it’s posted on the inside of the door, so you shouldn’t have too much trouble remembering.” The first years nodded in understanding. “Salazar,” she said loudly, and the wall shimmered slightly before swinging away from them into what Anastasia could only assume was the common room.

They filed in, and the girl gestured towards a few couches near a large central fireplace. 

“You’ll have time to explore in a few minutes,” the girl informed them, not unkindly. 

Behind the group of first years were five other upperclassmen, two more girls and three boys. The older students sat down on the edge of the fireplace, as it was more than wide enough to be used as a seat, but one boy with straight, dark hair and tan skin remained standing. 

“Hello, new Slytherins,” he began. “I’m Malcolm Baddock, your seventh year boys’ prefect. Left to right- your left to right, that is- we have Peridot Gamp,”- he referred to a pale girl with a blonde pixie cut and gorgeous green eyes- “seventh year girls’ prefect. Cassius Warrington,”- a golden haired boy who could pass for a Roman gladiator- “sixth year boys’. Tashimi Rosier,”- a petite Japanese girl with streaks of silver in her dark hair- “sixth year girls’. Graham Montague,”- a veritable Adonis at whose name many of the other girls in her year sighed- “fifth year boys’. And Gemma Farley,”- a girl with cinnamon skin and a sweeter smile- “fifth year girls’.”

Each prefect raised a hand and nodded at their name. Anastasia recited their names silently. It was only six people, but it would be ever so embarrassing to forget.

Prefect Baddock raised his hand for silence, as the first years had immediately begun muttering among themselves. “As prefects, we have to discuss the rules with you tonight. But before we do that, I’m going to tell you a bit about Slytherin house.

“As I’m sure you all know, Slytherin house was founded by Salazar Slytherin. For those of you who grew up here, and maybe those who have been doing some research, I’m sure you’ve heard absolutely awful things about the man. I don’t know how much of it is true; I wasn’t there. But what I can tell you is what Slytherin stands for today. Slytherin is the home of the cunning, the ambitious. Often the house of the ruthless, but also the house that values alliance above all.”

One could hear a pin drop if they wished.

Prefect Gamp rose to join him. “Slytherin house has an awful reputation,” she said bluntly. “We are known as the house of evil, of the Dark mages under your bed at night”- she let out a soft laugh- “and upon recent years, the house of Death Eaters. You will face prejudice from students as well as teachers. Some of you perhaps from your parents or friends. But we ask that you do not let them get under your skin. No house is inherently evil. Slytherin house is a place I can say I’m proud to be, but it’s up to you to keep it that way for yourselves.”

Prefect Warrington stood next. “When Malcolm says we are the house of alliance, he means it. There’s nothing more powerful than the bond of two allied Snakes. And we are  _ all _ allies from the moment you were sorted. Every Snake here has your back. Even Snakes who do not like each other personally  _ will  _ have your back.” His words sounded more like an order than a reassurance, but it was reassuring just the same. 

After him came Prefect Rosier. “If you do, in fact, have disagreements, or fights, or need help, or even just need someone to talk to, we are here for you. Please remember, however, that fights and disagreements are to remain in-house. I don’t want to see any fighting anywhere else. Maintaining peace is our job, it’s our duty, and it’s our choice. If you will not trust this as a favor, consider it part of the alliance. Never be afraid that we will reject you or become disappointed in you.”

Prefect Montague stood. “This applies to every area, but a common issue is in academics. Slytherins are not perfect. We have high standards here, but those are not obtained by chance. At any time, if you need help in a class, please ask for help. You can add your name to the tutoring list on the main board here in the common room, and a tutor will be assigned to you. If you need more immediate help, ask an older year, and you will find someone to help out.”

Prefect Farley followed him, and Anastasia wondered how many times they had rehearsed their speeches. "I’d like to make it clear that we  _ will _ push you toward your goals. But this doesn't mean you will be forced to accomplish any particular things. It's not a matter of force. It's simply that you will. And you will because you  _ can _ . You're all here, in Slytherin, because you want something. Now that you're here, you will get it. Don't think we're just scary prefects with obscene expectations who put loads and loads of pressure on you until you crack. We're your leaders, your mentors, we're only here to help you get the thing you want. And it's entirely alright if what you want changes, or isn't what other people want for you."

With the final prefect done with their speech, the announcements appeared to be over. Anastasia and the rest of the first year class began to clap, and as their applause died, a single slow clap could be heard from behind them.

“Gorgeous speeches,” came a soft drawl. “No, really. You’ve hit on everything important; thank you for that.”

Anastasia swivelled around to see who it was, but the speaker was already making her way to the front. It was a girl with a perfect white-blonde ponytail and the most piercing stare Anastasia had ever encountered. Her stride was deliberate, and Anastasia hoped she would have the ability to draw attention like that.

“My name,” she spoke, directing her words to the first years this time, “is Alexandria Selwyn. I am the current reigning Queen of Slytherin.”

_ Oh. _

Lady Bellatrix and Lord Marvolo had explained a bit about the Slytherin court system. It made sense that such an intimidating woman would be queen.

“My job here is to maintain order in Slytherin house. The school rules are everyone’s to follow and the job of teachers and prefects to enforce. My rules, however, are House rules, and the enforcement falls under my jurisdiction. My rules are as follows. First of all, no Snake is ever alone. Literally, you are never to travel alone. This is for protection. And, in the less literal sense, you are to be allies, as your prefects explained earlier. Second, I will not allow prejudice of any kind in this House. Trust me when I say you don’t want to experience the consequences. Third, do nothing to bring down Slytherin’s reputation. You are not to be caught breaking serious rules, you are not to suffer in silence as you fail your classes. You are to try your hardest at all things and times.”

Even Anastasia was too scared to speak.

“Thank you,” the Queen said with a sincere smile. “As with your prefects, I am not here to frighten you or be your enemy. I am here to maintain order, and I am here to protect you. Now, I believe it is time for you all to explore for a few minutes while we speak to the older years, then we’ll reassemble for basic school rules and the prefects will show you to your rooms.”

And explore she did.

The whole room was the most beautiful thing Anastasia had ever seen. Everything was effortlessly elegant, with caramel painted walls and a high ceiling that looked like the night sky, just as it did in the Great Hall, except the constellations were connected with silver threads and labelled in curling script.

Bookshelves lined the walls with large labels on top reading Politics: Current, Politics: Historical, History: Recent, History: Ancient, multiple labelled Dark Magic And Politics, a handful for novels, and a set of shelves next to a group of tables labelled for each school subject. All the furniture was in rich, dark wood (Ebony maybe? Or walnut?), and upholstered in shades of forest green, midnight blue, wine, and caramel. 

Warm lights floated above them to keep the room perfectly bright while still being relaxing. Arched windows lined the wall to the left of the entrance, which looked out directly into the Lake. She watched a school of fish swim by before shaking herself out of her trance and continuing to explore. 

There were more tables than she had realized since there was a whole extra room on the right that she hadn’t noticed with more, organized somewhat like a classroom. There were tables for two, tables for small groups, and larger tables for larger groups. A collection of couches and chairs surrounded the central fireplace, all in various matching shades and styles, but not exactly the same.

Stations were set up on the opposite side of the fireplace with easels, chalkboards, maps, and everything else she could imagine. The most beautiful piano sat in the corner and other instruments had their places on the wall. She was simply in love. It was home, she felt. Slytherin was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> same deal, hope you liked it, let me know what you think!!
> 
> Hermione was my biggest debate in this chapter, but I'm emphasizing her thirst for knowledge and taking into account how impressionable you are when you're a weird kid who hasn't had many friends. If she had met normal Gryffindors, she would have wanted to be one of them, now she's realized that there are places where her smarts will actually make her popular or successful. I hope you get my reasoning here :))


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secret identities? Not as easy to keep as one may wish to think.

Every strange thing she did could be supported by perfectly reasonable excuses, even sitting atop one of the desks in the common room, perfectly still, her legs crossed in front of her and her hands folded neatly in her lap, all taking place at seven in the morning.

She had promised Marvolo that she would keep up her practice when it came to meditating and defense, along with general fitness- or, she supposed, it was more that he had warned her that he would not be easing her back into practice when they finally got to practice again, and she was far too terrified of both the consequences of facing him out of practice and the idea of disappointing him to do anything but stay up to date.

"You seem so familiar," came a soft voice from behind her, startling her from her partial meditative state. 

Her nails bit painfully into her palms, the only sign she allowed to show her jolt at the sudden voice. She hadn’t spoken to Daphne or Blaise since she had arrived at Hogwarts past a passing greeting, almost to the extent of pointedly ignoring their presences .

She doubted there was anything stranger in the world than trying to force one’s closest friends into the positions of strangers in one’s mind, having to look past them as though they were nothing but another face in the crowd of Slytherins around her. It was an aching deep in her chest, really, but it was manageable, she supposed, or it would be for now. 

She turned toward the voice and swallowed hard as she saw her old friends, her heart pounding, and her casual tone probably not coming out nearly so casual as she wanted. "Do I?"

"Yes." It was Blaise who spoke this time, his head tilted to the side in thought, but not sounding anything but certain. "I know you, I'm sure of it."

"And yet, I don't remember ever meeting a Potter girl," Daphne finished.

"With all due respect, Heiress," Blaise continued, and Goddess did it hurt to hear him call her that, "I must ask if there's much more to you than meets the eye."

Anastasia took a deep breath. Her voice was somewhat rough when she spoke. "Might we take this conversation to the privacy of my rooms, Scion Zabini, Heiress Greengrass?"

Exchanging a look, her friends nodded, Blaise motioning to her to lead the way. She walked as calmly as she could to her door, hearing each clicking step as a clap of thunder beneath her feet and every breath as the storm before it. Blaise stepped in front of her to hold the door open for the two girls, and she led Daphne to an emerald settee, offering the chair across from her to Blaise. 

"Perhaps it would be easier to show you," she murmured, passing her friends to take a seat at her piano. She hadn't planned to bring one to school, but she soon realized how lonely she was without her music, and called for her elf to bring the piano from her balcony. It would be much faster than a simple explanation, not to mention that it would free her from having to speak just yet.

Slipping her nimble fingers onto the keys, she closed her eyes and let her muscle memory lead her as she began the song they would know her by, the tune she was practically famous for, as she played it at every single ball she attended. At first it had just been because it was a success, but, once she had become a bit better known for it, to the point that it was practically her name in most circles, it was somewhat expected that it would appear at the end of her set.

She could practically feel their open-mouthed shock as the song went on. Well, not literally, of course. Her friends would never be so improper, even in close company.

She slipped into the second chorus, but before she could even open her mouth to sing, she was tackled from behind, her fingers clanking down a dissonant chord. She took back her comment of Daphne's propriety.

"I have so missed you, Nocturne," Daphne murmured into the crook of her neck where she rested her head. 

"And I you,," Anastasia replied, brushing her friend's hair behind her ear so she could see her face. "Oh, Daphne," she sighed, meeting the girl's shining blue eyes. "Are you not horribly angry with me?"

"I don't believe I could ever find it in myself," the blonde assured her.

"I find myself beyond happy to find you here at Hogwarts, Nocturne," Blaise added from where he stood beside the embracing girls. 

Anastasia bit her lip. "Oh, come here, Blaise," she said, opening her arms to release Daphne and throwing away all hopes of proper behavior. 

The boy seemed to be going through a great internal struggle, but he finally gave in, sitting beside her on the bench and holding her from the side, an arm wrapped around her waist and his head resting on hers, which laid in turn on his shoulder. "I'm very happy to find you here as well, Blaise," she whispered.

"So. Anastasia Potter, hm?" Daphne asked when they had returned to the proper seats.

Anastasia smiled guiltily. "I do apologise for the secrecy, really. I had never intended to lie to either of you, especially about something so serious; I'm sure you understand why it was necessary, given the circumstances."

"There is nothing to apologise for," Blaise cut in firmly. "We cannot blame you for wishing to make it to Hogwarts...  _ intact _ ."

Anastasia held in a giggle. "No, I suppose not."

"How did you ever come across Lady Lestrange, Nocturne?" 

"It's Anastasia, you know," she corrected.

Daphne barely hid a pout. "We've called you Nocturne for years."

"And you're welcome to continue, in personal company," Anastasia offered. "I haven't yet decided how to reveal my rather alter-ego to the rest of the public so far. It would most likely be wisest to have a positive reputation before risking, well, everything, for the sake of truth."

"I understand," Daphne agreed. "If this got out to the wrong crowd…."

"I fear my family's reactions above all," Anastasia confessed. "I could do nothing worse, not in their eyes."

"Than perform on the Sabbats? Or perform for the Dark Faction?" Blaise asked.

"Both, either. Even to associate with you would be the most evil of betrayals to them."

He grimaced. "I take it they don't approve of your sorting." It wasn't a question.

"I actually haven't heard from them as of yet, though I have little doubt of their reactions. I expect a howler by the Start of Year Feast, if not an in-person visit."

Ana wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry at the thought of Lily and James showing up to Hogwarts just to scold her. She could already see the sharp disapproval in Lily’s stride, the heavy disgust in James’s eyes. Merlin, she could be disowned, for all she knew, or at least disinherited. It was unlikely, of course, given the sheer political kickback of disinheriting a child for their sorting, especially a child no one had actually heard anything bad about, but the Potters were quite good at ignoring society’s rules and still getting away with it.

Whatever happened, it would probably be the longest they had focused on her in her life.

"I think your family does approve of your sorting," Daphne spoke up suddenly. "And your performances."

Anastasia couldn't hold in a bark of almost hysterical sardonic laughter this time. "Daphne, I don't think-"

" _ Your family _ approves of you," she repeated. "Your real family. Blaise, and Lady Lestrange, and Draco, and me- we could never betray you like that, Noc- Anastasia," she corrected. "Never."

"True family wouldn't hurt you, Anastasia." Blaise said softly, taking note of the sheer level of emotion showing on his normally refined friend. 

"I love you two very much," Anastasia told them, not ready to acknowledge the rest of what they had said. 

Not aloud at least.

She would be lying if she said she hadn't thought of them in those terms before. In the safety of her mind, where no one else could see, where no one could take it away, she couldn’t help but see them as a family. Blaise and Daphne could only be described as her brother and sister. There was no bond so truly, purely deep as the one they shared, nothing so close and loving. There was no other way to explain a relationship so  _ real _ but to say they had found their own blood, and there was a certain thrill in the idea that she had gotten to choose them, instead of having the universe throw them together and hope that it worked out.

Lady Bellatrix… well, she would never admit it, but Anastasia did see her as some type of mother figure, and Marvolo was quickly becoming somewhat of a father figure. It may have been in their own strange way, but they were both highly protective, and they were the first ones she turned to when she needed anything, and they were there every time. Add the Malfoys as her aunt, uncle, and cousins, and she was growing quite the extended family.

But still, to abandon her own blood seemed unthinkable. Blood, blood family, was seen as one of the most important things for a Mage, second only perhaps to magic itself. Blood was in everything around them, their stories, their magic, their culture, their values.

But no, she reminded herself, Lily and James had done the unthinkable, not her. They had abandoned her years ago. When she was denied her education, her childhood, her livelihood, her happiness, when she was denied her safety, her freedom, when she was denied her family.

Besides, she figured, she had Uncle Siri who she was blood related to, now that she knew he had adopted her by blood all those years ago. And, even if he couldn’t always be there, he always tried to be, every time. He had even taken up writing her every week, telling her what he could about what he’d been up to, and asking loads of questions about her life. He cared about her, she knew that, and, really, he was more of a father than James. Between him  _ and _ Marvolo, she probably had at least one total father in her life.

Maybe it would be possible, to learn not to care about them. For their judgement to slide right off her, like the soapy water when she climbed out of a bath, collecting in a dirty puddle but leaving her shiny and clean. Maybe one day they and their beliefs would hold no power over her.

She sighed. That day would have to be very far in the future. She wouldn’t be able to fully escape them as long as she had to return home in the summers. She could learn to ignore judgement, but bruises were a bit more difficult.

“We love you as well, Nocturne.”

Perhaps it really would be alright. Perhaps if they could freeze time, perhaps if they could remain there forever, just her and her family- perhaps then it would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... this one's short. But I wanted to get something out for this story!!
> 
> I love this story a lot- it's my baby honestly, the first hp fic I ever started- and I have a lot of great ideas for it and plots for the later books and everything, I even have a good bit of the later years written, but I don't have very much inspiration or motivation for this fic at the moment, especially since most of my drive to write has been channeled into Spite and Normalcy. I feel like a lot of this fic seems a bit flat and not very realistic, but I really do love it, and I love writing found family tropes, so while the first few years of this story are likely to be closer to a series of vignettes and snapshots until I get to parts I feel more inspiration to really write, I'll try to go back and edit it later. Hope everyone understands if anyone was particularly attached to this story :))

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought of it!!


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